


Like Nothing Ever Happened Here

by cmdonovann



Category: Quantum Break (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Amnesia, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Game, Trans Character, trans Paul Serene, trans jack joyce
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-07 23:17:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6829300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmdonovann/pseuds/cmdonovann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please consider with me: Paul, back from the void, granted form but no memories, newborn as far as the universe is concerned, a sweet starchild with an infinite sense of loss he can’t explain...” </p>
<p>The universe works in mysterious ways.</p>
<p>Accompanying playlist: http://8tracks.com/cmdonovann/lift-up-your-eyes-child-you-are-home</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Particles Of The Universe

**Author's Note:**

> As it stands currently, I'll likely be naming chapters after the song on the playlist that fits with each chapter. This first chapter is more of an introduction, I suppose.
> 
> As always with this AU, much thanks to Gwin, you angel.

**October 10th 2016, 6:34am**

In the last few minutes of his life, all Paul Serene sees is red. His vision burns with pain, with betrayal, with a barely controlled anger that has been under the surface of his consciousness for so long. _Jack._ Jack did this to him. It’s the only thing that pushes him forward, and it’s the thing that hurts him the most as Jack hits him so hard it sends him flying; then there’s a sharp pain, then blood, then nothing. He detaches from his body, drifts, feels nothing but the red and the pain and the betrayal.

When the CFR goes off he is pulled back, suddenly, and Jack is there, looking him right in the eye, and he forgets it all. This wasn’t what he wanted.

It’s his last thought, as he feels himself ripped away from the fabric of the universe. _Jack, forgive me._

_I’m so sorry._

* * *

 

**October 15th 2016, 6:45pm**

“Here you are, Mr. Joyce,” a Monarch guard hands Jack a box, the last box of Paul’s things. “That should be it. We collected everything from his office and from the university. Is that all?”

Jack nods and looks around at the empty apartment on Monarch’s top floor. Once, it was Paul’s apartment. Now it’s his. He clears his throat.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” The guard smiles at him sympathetically, and Jack returns the smile as best he can. “You can go now, I’m sure you have better things to be doing.”

The guard laughs lightly and shakes her head. “Actually, I’ve been assigned to stay up here and keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t accidentally drop a sofa on yourself and break a leg or something, you know?”

Jack raises one eyebrow. “Does Monarch really have enough people that they can do that? Jeez.” He sets the box down, next to a pile of other boxes, all neatly taped shut and labeled. _Paul Serene, personal effects, Oct 15, 2016._ Everything that’s left of him catalogued and ready to be shoved into a closet and promptly forgotten about.

“We really do, Mr. Joyce. But if you don’t want any help, I can just wait outside.” The guard’s voice is pleasant, patient, and Jack almost feels bad for her, having to wait around for him. He shrugs.

“I’ll be fine, thanks. But I appreciate it.”

“Suit yourself.” The guard turns on her heel, precise, and heads out the door, closing it swiftly behind her. Jack lets out a long sigh and sits down on one of the larger boxes in the pile, puts his head in his hands.

He is _exhausted_. He hasn’t felt right since he and Will activated the CFR and fixed the fracture. Sofia Amaral had been kind enough to explain the effects of chronon syndrome to him the other day, but it doesn’t feel like that. At least, he doesn’t think so. It’s a different kind of tired, not painful and nervous like she had said the syndrome would make him feel. It’s more like numbness, like a limb falling asleep. He rubs at his eyes, feels the prickle of tears starting.

Suddenly, Jack’s phone starts ringing. He jumps, slightly alarmed, and pulls it from his pocket. Will. He slides his finger across the lock screen, sniffles before answering.

“Hey Will. What’s up?”

“Jack! You won’t believe what these Monarch idiots have been doing with the information from my research!”

Jack chuckles. “Yeah, and I bet I won’t understand it either.”

“That may be true, but you should still come see some of this. I’m not sure if it’s stupidity or genius, but it’s very interesting either way!” Jack can hear Will breathing hard, obviously pacing back and forth while talking. “I would never have thought of using the countermeasure’s tech for anything like this.”

“You never had to,” Jack reminds him. “You knew what it was really for.”

Will doesn’t answer for a moment, and Jack wonders if he said something wrong.

“Jack, you sound awful. Is everything alright?”

Oh boy. If even _Will_ can tell that he’s upset, he’s fucked.

“It’s nothing.” The silence on the other end of the phone tells him that Will isn’t going to accept that answer. Jack sighs and continues. “We finished packing up Paul’s stuff today.”

“Oh,” Will says.

“Yeah.” Jack rubs at his eyes again. “I’m just tired. And worried. Does anyone even know what really happened to him?”

“Well, it _looked_ like you killed him. But for all we know, he was too far gone into the process of becoming a shifter, and he could still be out there somewhere.” Will’s tone is matter-of-fact.

“Thanks a lot, that really makes me feel better,” Jack mutters sarcastically. Will doesn’t pick up on it.

“You’re welcome. Now whenever you’re done with... whatever it is you’re doing, you should really come see some of this tech. And don’t you have people to talk to? I mean, you’re basically in charge of Monarch now.”

Jack laughs harshly. “No, I’m really not, but thanks for your confidence in me. I’ll come by tomorrow morning. Which lab have they got you in?”

“Section 3. Also- oh, boy, look at that! I gotta go, Jack!” The call is cut, and Jack is left sitting in the middle of the apartment, alone again.

* * *

 

**October 16th 2016, 5:00am**

Somewhere in upstate New York, near the border with Vermont, a freak thunderstorm appears out of nowhere. Clouds roll like bubbles in a pot of boiling water, thunder cracks so loudly it shakes the very Earth, and a bolt of lightning brighter than the sun strikes the center of a field, scorching a circle into the ground.

Not many are brave enough to venture out into the storm, but the driver of a truck heading by the field notices what looks like a figure lying in the center of the circle, hair blown wild in the wind, clothes soaked.

Or maybe it’s just his imagination.


	2. Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please consider with me: Paul, back from the void, granted form but no memories, newborn as far as the universe is concerned, a sweet starchild with an infinite sense of loss he can’t explain...”
> 
> The universe works in mysterious ways.
> 
> Accompanying playlist: http://8tracks.com/cmdonovann/lift-up-your-eyes-child-you-are-home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on pronouns:  
> Paul doesn't have any memory of who or what he is, hence the use of singular "they." He wouldn't know what to call himself in his thoughts, and anyway it fits quite well, I think.
> 
> As always, thanks to Gwin, my ever-patient beta reader, critic, and inspiration.
> 
> And credit for the info about shifters goes to the Quantum Break wiki. Most of the italicized info is either directly quoted from there or paraphrased.

**October 16th 2016, 7:00am**

Waking up for the first time is painful. It’s cold, and everything is wet.

A light is creeping across the sky, turning it shades of white and gold and blue and purple.

Everything hurts.

_Where am I?_

They open their eyes, slowly, see nothing but brightness. It stings. The air is cold and harsh, wind whipping against their cheeks.

_What am I?_

Their joints ache, their whole body aches. Cold, wet, sore. The ground is too hard, the scorched grass brittle and cutting against their skin.

_Who am I?_

Slowly, they struggle upwards into what feels like a sitting position. They look around.

The grass around them has been flattened out, burnt, in a perfect circle. Outside the circle it rises up beyond their head, tall and golden. The wind rushes through it, making it whip wildly with a _shh-shh-shh_ sound. Everything is slightly damp, but the sky is clear and bright as the sun rises.

They look down at their body. It seems too big, strange. They hold out their hands, covered with mud and ash from the scorched ground. Familiar, somehow, but new. They turn their hands over and over, wiggling their fingers, watching the stretch of the skin with each small movement.

The grass around them is tall, and they can’t see much past it. _What is beyond this?_ Curiosity sets in.

Carefully, they stand up. It’s a slow process, their body sore and stiff and cold and so foreign to them. Every movement is new, a learning process.

At last they stand upright, somewhat wobbly but successful. The field stretches out for a long ways on two sides, and on one side a road, on another side the forest. The trees are yellow and orange and red, stunning and bright.

They start walking. Slow, careful, but determined. There’s a feeling inside telling them that they belong somewhere, somewhere they have to find. There is something missing within them, and it must be out there somewhere, whatever it is.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**October 16th 2016, 8:29am**

“Morning, Will,” Jack slides a cup of coffee onto his brother’s desk, already piled with papers and notes and odd knick-knacks. He really does manage to make a mess of things quickly. It’s only been a few days.

Will looks up from the book he’s reading, pen in his mouth. “Huh? Morning?”

Jack laughs. “How long have you been up, man?” Will looks at his watch, frowns.

“32 hours.”

“Will! C’mon, this stuff can’t be _that_ important. We already saved the world, remember?”

“Did we? I forgot,” Will says sharply.

“Okay, alright, no coffee for you.” Jack takes the cup back, walks over to the garbage, and dumps it.

“Hey!”

“Will, I know you’re excited to have your work back, but you gotta sleep sometimes. You’re still human, you know.”

Will grumbles, but the look on his face says he admits defeat. “Fine. I suppose I would work better after resting.”

“Solid logic,” Jack remarks. He paces around the lab. It used to be for product prototype development, but it’s been repurposed for Will to use until the mess in Sofia’s lab is cleaned up. Jack had insisted that they work together, knowing that Sofia thinks so highly of Will’s work. It’ll do wonders for his confidence, Jack thinks, having someone who doesn’t treat Will like he’s crazy.

Will closes his book, removes the pen from between his teeth. “I’m leaving, then. Don’t touch anything.”

“Didn’t you want to show me something?” Jack asks, confused.

“Didn’t you want me to sleep, like a normal human?” Will retorts. Jack shrugs, backing off.

“Alright, okay. You, uh, you have fun with that.”

Will stands and wanders out of the lab. He still doesn’t seem to know his way around. Hopefully one of the guards will find him if he gets too lost. They can deal a grumpy and sleep deprived William Joyce better than he can.

Jack paces around the room, exploring. He’s only been down here once before, to help Will move in some stuff a few days ago, and it’s certainly gotten messier since then. It is truly incredible how quickly Will manages to hoard things. Piles of papers, books, empty coffee cups, and far too many pens for one person, most of which have been chewed on.

Jack heads over to Will’s desk, curious about what he had been reading that kept him awake for so long. He picks up the book gingerly, its binding in rough shape.

It appears to be a journal, with extra pages shoved in here and there, sticky notes and tabs saving spots, marked up with highlighter and sketches in between paragraphs of information and math that Jack doesn’t even want to try to understand. He flips through it, mostly admiring the detail of some of the sketches. One of them shows the time machine core; another shows the inner workings of the CFR, all neatly labeled in tiny print. Whoever wrote this had studied it meticulously.

There are a few pages are on chronon theory, and Jack suddenly understands why Will was so fascinated by this book. The author seems to have chronicled, in extreme detail, every aspect of Paul’s chronon syndrome and his interaction with the chronon field. Jack skims through it, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach telling him that soon, this might be him.

A phrase sticks out in his skimming, and his eyes scan back to it, focusing. _“Chronon-disrupted life form (common name - shifter)”_ the page reads. Jack swallows hard and continues reading.

_“... shifters are superpositions of all possible past, present, and future versions of themselves, existing both everywhere and nowhere. With reference to the famous ‘Schrödinger's cat’ thought experiment, the cat is both alive and dead at the same time.”_

Jack’s hands shake. He keeps reading anyway.

_“Known abilities of shifters:_  
• _ability to operate or function in a time stutter or fracture;_  
 _• ability to see the future, or many possible futures;_  
 _• ability to bend time in order to move more quickly than usually possible;_  
 _• general ability to manipulate the chronon field;_  
• _apparent immortality -- deadly force may kill one of its aspects, but because it exists as multiple iterations of itself, including iterations that were not killed by the force, it doesn't stop. Monarch researchers theorize that the only way to stop a shifter is to cause its wave function to collapse from the superposition to a single eigenstate. In practical terms, the shifter must be affected with deadly force enough times for it to run out of healthy versions of itself.”_

Jack feels his head swimming with worry, and he closes the book and sets it back down on Will’s desk. He rubs at his temples, frowning. “You can’t keep doing this forever, Jack,” he says out loud to himself, sighing. “You can’t live your life in fear of something you can’t control.” He remembers someone saying that to him once, maybe a teacher back when he was in school. It still rings true, he thinks. He can’t spend forever worrying whether Paul will just show up one day and try to kill him again. He’ll have to let it go, someday.

But there’s still a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, like the universe isn’t done with this story yet. Like there’s something yet to come, a storm hanging over his head, turning the air warm and heavy and static. Lightning waiting to strike.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**October 16th 2016, 9:05am**

The forest is huge, the trees much taller than they look from far away. Sunlight filters down through the leaves, turning the ground into a patchwork of light and dark, reds and oranges and golds.

_Beautiful._

They haven’t seen anything like it before, but somehow it feels comforting, safe, and it’s warmer in the forest with the trees to slow the wind. The air around them is heavy, damp, close. Something about the feeling is familiar.

Maybe this is what they’re looking for.

They stretch out a hand to touch the bark of a tree and let out a gentle gasp when their fingers make contact. What a strange feeling. Rough, but pleasant, solid and certain. They run their hand along each tree as they walk, letting the sensation trickle from their fingertips into their mind.

There’s a layer of fallen leaves on the ground, and the deeper they go into the forest, the thicker the layer gets. Each step they take makes a quiet, crisp little sound, and it keeps them moving forward, the noise satisfying them in a way. Yet it doesn’t satisfy the questions in their head.

They’ve lost something important. _But what? What are they missing?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**October 16th 2016, 10:22am**

Henry Bowen is playing frisbee with his dog when a very disheveled looking man stumbles out of the forest and into his yard. It’s a good 100 feet from his back porch to the edge of the woods, and he has to squint in the late morning sun to get a good look at the man.

He seems to be very lost, looking around like he’s never seen trees or grass or birds before. He’s covered in mud and what looks like ash; his hair is wild and curly, and there are several leaves stuck in it. He walks like someone who’s just barely learned how to stand, slow and unsure and shaky.

Henry is about to call out to him, ask if he’s okay, when he finally gets a good view of the man’s face.

He’s seen that man before, on the news. Paul Serene, the former head of Monarch Solutions, now missing and being blamed for the attacks and chaos caused by the company.

Well, he’s not missing anymore.

Henry calls his dog and hurries inside to call the police, locking the door behind him.


	3. Draw Your Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please consider with me: Paul, back from the void, granted form but no memories, newborn as far as the universe is concerned, a sweet starchild with an infinite sense of loss he can’t explain...”
> 
> The universe works in mysterious ways.
> 
> Accompanying playlist: http://8tracks.com/cmdonovann/lift-up-your-eyes-child-you-are-home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter. Something big is coming. Just wait.

**October 16th 2016, 10:45am**

“Holy shit.” Jack hears Will’s voice echoing down the hall outside the door of the lab. He puts down the book he was trying to read and gets up from Will’s desk.

“Will, I thought you went to get some sleep,” Jack says as he approaches the door. Will bursts through it, walking almost directly into him, phone pressed to his ear. Will gives him a wide-eyed look that he cannot interpret.

“You’re fucking kidding.” Will shakes his head, looks at Jack, then at the floor. “You’re not kidding?” The color has drained from Will’s face, and Jack looks on, confused.

_What’s going on?_ Jack mouths at Will, who shakes his head and holds up a finger to silence Jack.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll tell him. Why can’t you just send someone else? You’ve got your own fucking private military.” Will scowls, clearly displeased with whoever he is speaking to. “Fine, we’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Will turns off his phone, grimacing. He turns to Jack.

“What the hell was that about? I thought you were gonna try to sleep.” Jack doesn’t want to deal with sleep-deprived Will any more than the next guy, no matter how important it might be.

“That was Hatch.” Will takes a breath. “It’s Paul.”

_Oh._

Jack’s stomach feels like the drop before a roller coaster. He genuinely thinks, for a moment, that he might throw up.

“Fuck.”

Will nods in his best attempt at sympathy and puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder awkwardly. “Someone found him, in upstate New York, just wandering around in the woods. The cops have him now. Hatch wants us to go with the team to get him.”

“ _Fuck,_ Will.” Jack feels dizzy. Some part of him knew this would happen, but he’s still struggling to process it. It feels like the universe is mocking him. Of course this wasn’t over. Of course he can’t just move on. _Of course._

“We knew this was a possibility, Jack,” Will says, trying to sound positive. “At least someone caught him before he could do anything.”

“Yeah,” Jack mutters. He’s slowly catching his breath, calming down. His head is spinning, the world going a funny shade of reddish purple around the edges. “Yeah, I knew this would happen eventually.” He focuses on the ground until it becomes stable, solid.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

**October 16th 2016, 11:10am**

The lights are so bright. Why are the lights so bright? It hurts. And it’s cold, cold metal locked around their wrists, cold metal table, cold metal chair. There’s a high-pitched quiet humming, buzzing sound coming from somewhere above them, and there are tears running down their face, dripping off their chin. It’s cold and prickly and uncomfortable. They never should have left the forest.

But they saw someone. Someone like them. Two hands, two feet, a face that seemed friendly and familiar. It had seemed like a good idea to approach them. But then that stranger had called more people, who had locked them up here in this cold and awful and uncomfortable place.

Their arm hurts, from where one of those people had grabbed them, held them down to the ground while the cold metal cuffs clicked around their wrists. And those people had shouted, screamed at them, words they didn’t quite understand. There’s a feeling in their stomach, a hollow coldness; heavy, unsure. They are afraid.

Why is this happening? Why do these people want to hurt them? Did they do something wrong? They just want to understand. They just want to go home.

_Home._ Is that what they’re looking for?

_Home._

What is that? Is it a feeling? A place?

Or is it something else entirely?

* * *

 

**October 16th 2016, 6:28pm**

Jack cannot sit still to save his fucking life. He’s been in this van for almost seven hours, and his brain is running circles around the same anxieties for the hundredth time. He cracks his knuckles, taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and bites at his lip, but he can’t distract himself from his thoughts.

Is Paul still dangerous? Is he really a shifter? How are they going to contain him? The CFR was the only thing powerful enough to keep the Dr. Kim shifter under control, and it’s burned out. It’ll take months to repair.

More importantly, why did Monarch find it necessary to send him and Will to get Paul? They’re not alone; there’s another van following not far behind them with three of Monarch’s people, one of whom Jack recognized as the woman who’d been “keeping an eye on him” yesterday. So why even send him at all? Does Hatch know something he doesn’t? Does he somehow think Jack is better equipped to deal with Paul?

Jack lets out an anxious sigh and rolls his neck, cracking joints, before refocusing his eyes on the road. The sun is just starting to fall below the trees, and Jack’s eyes are getting tired from driving. He glances over at Will, who’s been asleep in the passenger seat for the last 130 miles or so.

At least he won’t have to deal with grumpy, sleep-deprived Will. That’s a plus.

Up ahead on the road he sees a sign, _Welcome To Essex County!_ written in large, pleasant yellow letters. They’re getting close.

As the sun dips finally behind the trees, the whole sky glows brilliantly for a moment, the clouds illuminated from behind in all shades of pink and orange and gold. Then seconds later the sky is a deep purple, the stormclouds grey as they roll across the horizon. Jack opens a window and feels the air rushing past, thick and humid and cold before the coming rain.


	4. Lost Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please consider with me: Paul, back from the void, granted form but no memories, newborn as far as the universe is concerned, a sweet starchild with an infinite sense of loss he can’t explain...”
> 
> The universe works in mysterious ways.
> 
> Accompanying playlist: http://8tracks.com/cmdonovann/lift-up-your-eyes-child-you-are-home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More and better things yet to come, but in the meantime, there's this. I won't spoil, but I am very excited for what's in the next chapter.

**October 16th 2016, 6:50pm**

The Essex County PD is a pleasant little building, with wooden siding and a large green sign out front. The whole area and town is warm and cheerful, with an air of old-timey nostalgia to everything. The street lamps shine a warm yellow-orange, and traffic is minimal at this time of the evening. An old rusted pickup creaks by as the two Monarch vans pull into the parking lot of the police department.

“Will, hey,” Jack says quietly, shaking Will’s shoulder. “C’mon.”

Will grumbles as he’s dragged from sleep and rubs his eyes. “We’re here?”

“Yeah. Let’s go. We got work to do.”

Will gives him a look that’s likely meant to be reassuring and climbs out of the van. “It sure got dark,” Will mutters, staring up at the cloudy sky as he joins Jack and the three Monarch soldiers. “We’re not driving back to Riverport tonight, are we? That looks like one hell of a storm.”

“We can call in a favor and get a motel for the night, if safety is a concern,” says one of the Monarch people. Jack looks at her uniform; the patch on her chest pocket reads _Martinez_ in yellow embroidered letters. She’s the one who had been in Paul’s-- no, _his_ apartment the other day, and Jack wonders if there’s a specific team designated for “keeping an eye” on him. He wouldn’t put it past Hatch.

“I guess we’ll see what happens,” Jack says tiredly. He rolls his neck, cracks his knuckles. “Alright, let’s go.”

They must be an odd sight, Jack thinks, two scruffy-looking guys and three armed guards, walking into the world’s most cheerful small-town police office.

The inside of the building is just as pleasant, walls covered with light-colored wood paneling and squishy plastic green chairs set up in a waiting room by the front desk. It’s quiet, save for the ticking of a small clock on the desk. The woman sitting there is staring at an old computer monitor, clicking a pen absentmindedly. Her uniform looks like it’s seen better days, the fabric wearing thin at the elbows. She looks up from whatever she was doing and smiles tiredly.

“So one of you must be Mr. Joyce?” She raises one eyebrow and looks at the five very out-of-place people who’ve just entered.

Jack paces up to the desk. “That’s me.”

“Yeah, I got notice you were coming. They didn’t tell me you were bringin’ the army in with ya, though.” She chuckles a little. “You’re here for that Serene guy, huh?”

“Yes,” Jack says tersely, clenching and unclenching his fist anxiously. He just wants to get this over with.

“Down the hallway, first door on the left. There’s some folks in there keeping an eye on him, you’ll have to talk to them, fill out some paperwork. You know the drill.”

“Of course.” Jack turns to head down the narrow hallway, then pauses. He looks back at the Monarch team. “You all can probably wait here. You’ll know if anything goes wrong.” Martinez nods and gives Jack what’s probably supposed to be a look of encouragement, and Jack heads down the hallway to the door.

He’s met inside by two cops, both as tired looking as the one at the front desk. They’re talking quietly, but immediately stop when Jack enters.

“You’re Joyce?” the first one asks sharply.

“Yep, that’s me. What’s going on?”

The cops look at each other, and Jack feels a knot of dread forming in his stomach. _Great. What the hell happened?_

“Well, we tried to talk to your buddy Serene here, and he won’t talk. Actually, he won’t respond to anything. I’m no expert, but he’s kinda acting like he’s got brain damage or something. So, uh, if that's the case, legally we’re not supposed to let you take him unless you’re gonna get that checked out by, um, a doctor.” The cop looks just about as frustrated as Jack feels, and Jack nods.

“You can talk to the guys waiting outside about that, if you want,” Jack offers. “Where’s Paul?”

The cop makes a face and jabs his thumb at the wall to Jack’s right. He turns, noticing the one-way window set into the wall, slightly darkened.

And there he is. He’s sitting handcuffed at a plain table, the only thing in the room, and his head is bowed. He can’t see Paul’s face, but his shoulders are shaking, almost like he’s... crying?

Jack feels _something_ very strongly, like a punch in the gut, but he can’t quite identify the feeling.

“Can I talk to him?”

The cop shrugs. “You can try.”

* * *

 

**October 16th 2016, 6:59pm**

They’ve been in this room for a long time, and they’re starting to wonder if they’ll ever be let out. Their wrists hurt from being tied, their eyes hurt from crying, their head hurts from the brightness. And they’re so, so tired.

Suddenly the door opens. They look up, hoping perhaps they can go. They want to go back to the forest, to the warm still air and the crunch of the leaves and that feeling of safety.

The person at the door is one of the people who brought them here, the one who hurt their arm. They look away, feeling more tears forming in their eyes. They don’t want to get hurt again.

“There’s someone here to talk to you, Mr. Serene,” the person says. They don’t respond to the voice, squeezing their eyes closed to stop the tears. It hurts.

They hear a scrape as the chair across the table is pulled out, a settling sound as someone sits down. They don’t dare open their eyes. Their heart is racing, their breath too fast; they’re so afraid.

“Hey, Paul,” a different voice says, and something inside their head clicks into place; recognition. “You wanna tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”

They open one eye, cautiously, then the other, looking up at the owner of the familiar voice. A squarish face, light hair, eyes like the color of the sky earlier that morning, when they first woke up. Bright and clear.

They’ve never seen this person before, yet something about those eyes makes them certain they are safe now.

They look the person up and down, taking in every little detail. A dark brown jacket, worn and comfortable looking, the thin grey shirt underneath it slightly damp around the neck. Hands resting on the table, fingers interlaced. Head tilting slightly sideways, an expression they don’t know how to read.

“So I guess you don’t wanna talk, then, huh?” the person says after a moment. They look back into the stranger’s eyes, trying to understand the words. Can this person help them? How do they ask?

“Who-” the word feels foreign on their lips, coming out shaky and wrong. “Who are you?” It’s the first question they can think to ask. Then, “Who am I?”

The stranger looks confused, those familiar blue eyes going wide.

“Fuck.”

The stranger gets up quickly and leaves, closing the door with a loud slam. The sudden movement is frightening, and they squeeze their eyes shut again, flinching, feeling more tears coming.

_Why is this happening?_

* * *

 

**October 16th 2016, 7:03pm**

“He’s not Paul,” Jack says sharply as he slams open the door to the room behind him and paces down the short hallway. Will and the Monarch team look up at him, alarmed. “He’s got no fucking clue who he is. He doesn’t even act like Paul.”

“How can you be sure he’s not just lying?” Will asks, a skeptical look on his face.

“Jesus, Will, just look at him.” Jack waves a hand at the one-way window in the room, and Will leans to the side to look down the hallway past one of the cops and into the room. Paul’s face is crumpled into an expression like pain, tears streaming openly down his face. Will nods solemnly.

“Well, what are you gonna do with him then?” Will raises an eyebrow at Jack.

“What do you mean, what am _I_ gonna do? I have no fucking idea, I’m not in charge. Someone’s gonna have to call Hatch, or... something. There is no way this is normal or good.” Jack rubs his eyes; he’s exhausted, despite feeling so on edge. “He couldn’t just _forget_ everything, could he? I mean, is that possible? That surviving what happened made him forget?”

“I don’t know, Jack,” Will says quietly. He’s fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve, a nervous habit. “It’s possible that he’s just a different version of Paul. That’s how shifters work, right? All different possible versions. I suppose, theoretically, this could be just one of many.”

Jack nods. “Alright. So he’s only _kind of_ Paul. What happens if the rest of Paul shows up? The other versions of him? What do we do with him?”

“Well, he doesn’t seem dangerous now,” Will offers. “If the other aspects of the shifter start manifesting, though, that could change very quickly. You’d be able to tell, wouldn’t you?” Will pauses, unsure how to phrase his thought, and bites his lip. “If he, ah, if he started doing shifter things. You know. You can feel that sort of thing, right?”

Jack thinks back to his first encounter with Paul after the incident with the university time machine. He had indeed known, almost instantly, that Paul was different. Why didn’t he feel that way now?

“Yeah, I guess I could tell,” he says slowly. He glances back down the hall at the one-way window, at the person who’s not quite Paul Serene. “He doesn’t feel like that, either. He doesn’t feel like a shifter. He doesn’t even really feel like a person.”

“That’s weird, Jack,” Will says, stating the obvious.

“I know.”

“Well, are we gonna leave him here overnight?”

“I don’t know.” Jack turns to the Monarch team. “You called in that favor for a motel, right? I’m not driving another seven hours in that,” Jack says, gesturing at the storm outside. The rain started several minutes ago, and has been increasing in volume and velocity since.

“Yep,” Martinez replies, looking bored. “You’re not really considering bringing him with us, are you?”

“I don’t know,” Jack mumbles, looking back at the one-way window. Paul is still crying, head bowed, shoulders hunched, like he’s trying to curl up into a ball and hide. “He doesn’t seem dangerous right now, but I don’t know if we should leave him here in case that changes.”

“Fair enough. You want me to talk to him?”

“If you want,” Jack says, shrugging. He’s so fucking tired.

“Great.” She strides over to the door, taking the key from the other officer who’s still guarding it.

Martinez opens the door quietly. Paul doesn’t even look up this time; he’s still crying silently, head bowed, shoulders shaking. She takes the seat in front of him, leaving the door open. Jack stands in the doorway with Will hovering anxiously behind him, curious.

“Hello, Mr. Serene. Do you know who I am?” she tilts her head to try to meet Paul’s eye. He looks at her for barely a second before shaking his head quickly.

“Alright. Do you know who you are?” This time Paul doesn’t even look up, just shakes his head again. A tear falls from the tip of his nose onto the table.

“Okay. What about him? Do you know who he is?” She points at Jack, standing in the doorway, and Jack takes a slight step back, surprised by the sudden attention on him. The moment feels like it lasts for an eternity, as Paul lifts his head to look at him, expression indecipherable, eyes wide.

“...No,” Paul says finally, and looks away, although the word sounds more like a question than an answer.

“Great. Let’s go, then.”


	5. Constants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please consider with me: Paul, back from the void, granted form but no memories, newborn as far as the universe is concerned, a sweet starchild with an infinite sense of loss he can’t explain...”
> 
> The universe works in mysterious ways.
> 
> Accompanying playlist: http://8tracks.com/cmdonovann/lift-up-your-eyes-child-you-are-home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long pause in between chapters, my computer is still broken but I'm doing the best I can to still write, difficult though it may be. Also, props and a million hugs to my dear Gwin for encouragement and grammar checking. Anyway, enjoy!

**October 16th 2016, 7:40pm**  
  
The motel is nothing special, but Monarch’s paying for it, and that’s good enough for Jack. The storm he’d seen rolling in on the drive there finally hit while they were in the PD, and rain is falling in little cold drops. It’ll be a full-on downpour in an hour or so, he can tell, and he doesn’t want to drive back to Riverport in the dark through that. He can feel the static in the air that says there’ll be thunder and lightning and it’s already dark out, anyway.  
  
Paul is sitting in the back of the van, no longer handcuffed, and fidgety despite looking like he may pass out any second from exhaustion. He jumps when the van stops in the motel lot and tries to stick his head into the front of the van to look out the window. Will frowns at him and closes the panel that separates the front seats of the van from the open space in the back, and Paul looks hurt but says nothing. Jack and Will climb out of the van, dashing through the rain to the front door of the motel to wait for the Monarch team, who pull into the lot a moment later and join them.  
  
Martinez goes to the motel desk and chats for a second with the grumpy-looking young man sitting there before returning with an envelope with room keys.  
  
“So we’ve got three rooms, two beds each. Jack, you wanna take Serene?”  
  
“Why me? Didn’t Hatch send you guys to look after him?” Jack scowls.  
  
“No, he sent us as backup. You’re the best equipped to deal with Serene if he goes nuts, you know that. And anyway, we’ll be right next door. We’ll hear if anything goes bad.” She gives him a pointed look, raising one eyebrow. Jack sighs.  
  
“Fine. Whatever. Will?” He turns to his brother, who shrugs and jabs a thumb at Martinez.  
  
“I’m with her on that,” he says tiredly.  
  
“Okay.” Jack rubs a hand over his eyes and nods. “Alright. Gimme my key, I’ll go get Paul.”  
  
Jack doesn’t bother running through the rain this time, head down to keep the drops out of his eyes as he walks to the van. He unlocks and opens the back to find Paul just where they left him, eyes closed, head leaning against the wall, almost asleep. It takes a moment after Jack opens the door before he looks up.  
  
“Hey. C’mon,” Jack says, gesturing for Paul to follow, but not wanting to just grab him and pull him out of the van. Thankfully Paul obeys, looking at Jack with all the wide-eyed obedience of an eager-to-please puppy. He hops out of the van ungracefully and pauses for a moment in surprise as he feels the light rain falling on him, cold, then trails after Jack back to the motel lobby. Jack eyes him sideways the entire time, suspicious, but Paul doesn’t seem to notice. He rubs at one eye sleepily with the back of his hand and yawns, seeming distant as he takes in his surroundings.  
  
The Monarch team is still waiting where Jack left them. They seem to be discussing something important, talking in hushed tones amongst themselves as Will stands awkwardly off to the side, fidgeting, looking tired and anxious. He looks up at as the door closes behind Jack, Paul following very close behind.  
  
“So who are you with?” Jack asks quietly as he paces up next to Will.  
  
“Huh?” Will jumps slightly, jolted out of his thoughts. “Oh, er. I guess I’m rooming with whoever’s in charge.”  
  
“That’d be Martinez. Lucky you.” Jack chuckles and elbows Will, nodding in the direction of the Monarch team and Martinez. Will blushes.  
  
“No thanks, then. I’ll sleep in the van.”  
  
“You’re not serious.”  
  
Will shrugs and doesn’t answer, distracted again. He frowns and points at Paul, who is still standing in the doorway.  
  
Paul doesn’t seem to be aware that he is technically a prisoner right now, despite not being handcuffed, and he’s looking around with an expression almost like excitement or curiosity. He seems particularly fascinated by an obviously plastic decorative potted plant next to the motel’s entrance. He reaches out one hand gingerly and touches one of its shiny leaves, eyes wide. He makes a soft noise of surprise, fingers gliding along the smooth plastic surface experimentally. Like an easily entertained child, Jack thinks.  
  
“This is weird Jack. I don’t like it.” Will mutters, eyes fixed on Paul as if he’s trying to burn a hole through him.  
  
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jack says, scowling.  
  
“What if he… you know,” Will makes a vague hand gesture, but Jack already knows what he means from the look of genuine concern on Will’s face.  
  
“I guess I’m the only one who can really deal with him.” Jack shrugs. Will does not seem comforted by this at all.  
  
The Monarch team seem to have broken up their discussion, and one of them takes a few steps toward Jack, eyeing Paul nervously before speaking.  
  
“Orders from Hatch are to leave here at 5am tomorrow. He wants us back ASAP, to make sure Serene is secure and can’t do anything. Apparently Amaral wants a look at him, too,” the Monarch kid says. “Weird situation.” He looks over at Jack with one eyebrow raised, waiting for Jack to reply.  
  
“Mmhmm,” Jack says tiredly, agreeing. “Weird.” He gazes out at the storm, rain coming down harder by the minute, a few flashes of lightning visible in the distance, approaching. “Alright,” he says, snapping himself out of his trance. He turns over to look at Paul, still admiring the motel’s questionable decor.  
  
“Paul? Hey, Paul,” it takes a moment to get Paul’s attention before he looks up, eyes wide and curious, but his gaze lagging with apparent tiredness. Paul makes a puzzled look and points at himself as if to say, _me?_ and Jack nods, gesturing for him. Paul follows obediently, and Jack heads back out into the ever-increasing downpour with a hand shielding his eyes and finds the door with their room number, unlocking it as quickly as possible to get out of the rain. Paul remains outside the door for a moment, seeming distracted, hands outstretched into the raindrops, before Jack takes his arm and pulls him inside.  
  
The motel room is plain, but it has a cozy sort of charm to it, a few pieces of Americana-type decor hung on the warm yellowish walls, dark plaid curtains that match the beds hanging over the single window. Jack shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the rack by the door, kicks off his shoes, sits down on the bed furthest from the window. Paul stays still, hands held together in front of him as he hovers in the doorway, appearing anxious.  
  
“You okay?” Jack says, tone coming out harsher than he intended, and Paul jumps, eyes darting over to Jack.  
  
“…No,” he says after a moment, struggling with the single syllable as if the word is foreign to him. He looks around again, observing, eyes falling on Jack’s discarded jacket and shoes. He glances down at his own shoes, perplexed, and tries to take them off, although it’s pretty clear he has no idea how shoelaces work.  
  
“Geez, Paul, you really don’t remember a damn thing, do you?” Paul just gives him a blank stare. “No, of course you don’t. Jesus fucking Christ.” Jack sighs and gets up to help him with the shoes, untying the laces so they are loose enough. Paul frowns and shakes his head, looking almost hurt by the outburst from Jack, but says nothing.  
  
Jack can’t help but feel weird about the whole situation. It’s barely been a week since the fracture, since Paul’s actions destroyed his life and everything he thought he knew about the world, yet right now, his brain foggy from the long drive and the damp storm air, the only thing he can feel towards Paul is pity. All the built up frustration, fear, anger — all seemingly gone. Despite everything, Jack thinks, he is surprisingly clear-headed.  
  
“Okay, we gotta sleep,” Jack mutters as he glances at the clock on the bedside table. A little bit past 8pm. It’s the first time in years he’s actually wanted to sleep before midnight. Paul was always the morning person, out of the two of them.  
  
Paul takes off his jacket clumsily and hangs it next to Jack’s before sitting down on the other bed, still looking mildly confused and curious despite the tiredness in his eyes. Jack kicks off his socks and pants and gets in bed, turning off one of the lamps.  
  
“Dude. Sleep,” he says, that sharp tone creeping back into his voice, and Paul looks taken aback for a moment before he takes the hint and gets in his own bed. Jack turns off the other lamp and rolls over onto his side, facing the wall, trying not to think too much about the man a few feet to his left as he closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

* * *

  
  
**October 17th 2016, 1:00am**  
  
_Sleep_ , they think, trying to figure out what exactly that means. Their body is tired, yes, but they don’t want to sleep. The air feels different in this small room, close and warm, the sound of soft breathing coming from the familiar figure in the other bed. They can hear the rain outside, and the memory of the sensation of rain on their skin a few hours earlier makes their fingers itch with a strange eagerness.  
  
A bright flash illuminates the room for a fraction of a second, the blue-white light streaming in through the curtains a sharp contrast to the only other source of light, the dull yellow from the buzzing street lights outside.  
  
Barely a moment passes before a thunderous crack splits the air, a booming vibration like a wave passing tangibly through their chest from the sound, shaking the bed and the walls and the floor. It’s been like this for hours, and they have been listening, waiting, too afraid to move despite their curiosity.  
  
The figure in the other bed stirs slightly, breath hitching for a moment before settling again, and they gaze over in the half-light at the silhouette. Eyes closed, face calm, jaw hanging open just a bit. And there’s that itch in their fingers again, curiosity.  
  
Unsure how else to satisfy that feeling, they slide carefully out of the bed, trying their hardest to be quiet, and step cautiously over to the door, opening it just a crack and slipping out into the cold and the rain.

* * *

  
  
**October 17th 2016, 1:23am**  
  
A booming clap of thunder jolts Jack awake, the resonance of it seeming to shake the whole building and the Earth beneath it. He sits up, alarmed, and looks around. The room is dark, save for the lightning every few seconds and a strip of neon and orange street light filtering in through the drawn curtains from the motel sign outside. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust.  
  
As the darkness comes into focus, Jack notices that something feels different. Something is missing. The fog clears from his half-asleep brain and he realizes.  
  
_Paul._  
  
“Shit! Shit, shit, fuck,” Jack swears as he trips out of bed and fumbles for the light switch. “Fuck. Paul?” He finds the lights, turns them on. The room is empty, the door slightly ajar, an inch of light shining in from outside. He can hear the echo of raindrops beyond the door. “Fuck.”  
  
He trips over his shoes, doesn’t even bother putting them on, and throws the door open, stumbling out into the rain. It takes barely a moment before he’s soaked through and freezing.  
  
But there’s Paul.  
  
He’s sitting cross-legged on the pavement, puddles pooling around him. There’s orange and red light from the street lamps and the motel sign reflecting in the water, rippling with each raindrop, a mosaic of shimmering color. He’s soaked and it looks like he’s shivering, but he doesn’t move. Jack takes a tentative step toward him.  
  
“Paul?”  
  
No response. Jack paces up behind him, crouches down next to him. “Hey, what are you doing out here?”  
  
Paul doesn’t answer. He’s staring up at the clouds, each small flash of lightning illuminating his face, full of wonder. His palms are open to the sky, catching the rain. Drops cling to his eyelashes and his hair, which is a curly mess plastered across his forehead. Jack puts a hand on his shoulder, and he jumps.  
  
“Hey, Paul, buddy. What are you doing?” Jack repeats himself. He’s met with a puzzled look from Paul.  
  
“Paul?” He says his own name as though he’s never heard it before. Jack is surprised for a moment, unsure how to respond.  
  
“Yeah, uh that’s you.” Jack points at Paul, tapping him lightly on the chest with one finger. “Paul.”  
  
Paul’s eyes get very, very wide, and it almost looks like he’s crying, though it’s hard to tell in the rain. “I’m Paul?” he asks, a note of awe in his voice.  
  
“Yeah. And I’m Jack. Nice to meet ya,” Jack says, a slight edge of impatience and sarcasm creeping into his tone. “Look, it’s pretty cold out here. Why don’t you come back inside?”  
  
Paul is silent for a moment, still staring at Jack all wide-eyed and open-mouthed. There are tears visible in his eyes now for sure.  
  
“Jack.” Paul’s voice breaks on the word. The way he says it is painfully familiar, and suddenly it’s like they’re kids, meeting for the first time again. Jack feels a flutter in his stomach, an emotion he can’t quite name.  
  
“Yeah, that’s me. C’mon.” Jack stands up and takes Paul’s arm, pulling him up with him. “Let’s go, we’re both gonna get sick if we stay out here much longer.”  
  
Paul nods slowly, still holding onto Jack’s arm as if to steady himself, his eyes unfocused and cast down at the puddles around his feet, glowing with the orange of the streetlights. “Jack,” he murmurs again, committing the name to memory.

* * *

  
  
  
**September 2nd, 1993, around noon**  
  
“Get off! Get away from me!” A shrill and frightened voice cuts through the laughter of a group of kids in the Riverport Elementary School playground. It’s only the second day of classes and they’ve already chosen their new favorite target, the rich and dorky Serene kid whose family just moved into town. The kid is in a ball on the ground, no clue how to fight back.  
  
“Hey! Leave them alone!” another kid barks out, cutting through the mob. They move slightly around the kid, shorter than the rest but tough looking and muscular, piercing blue eyes filled with stubbornness and determination, long light hair pulled back under a baseball cap.  
  
“Aw c’mon Heather, what are you gonna do, tell the teacher?” One of the kids in the mob spits at Heather’s feet.  
  
“Oh, I’ll do a hell of a lot more than that if you lot don’t back off,” Heather threatens, cracking knuckles and adjusting the baseball cap. “Now scram, before I make you.”  
  
The mob clears out quickly, no one wanting to get into a one-on-one fight on the second day of school. Heather crouches down by the kid they were bullying and taps their shoulder.  
  
“Hey, you okay there, buddy?”  
  
The Serene kid uncurls slowly, looking up with light grey eyes and a hurt expression. Their dark hair is a curly mess around their face and there’s a bruise developing under one eye. Their clothes are covered in dirt and dust. They nod slowly.  
  
“Sorry about those guys. They’re assholes.” Heather grimaces and shrugs, looking back at the retreating mob. “I’m Jack. Nice to meet ya.” Jack pauses and looks down. “Er, that’s not my real name, but I don’t like my real name. So you should call me Jack.”  
  
“Jack,” the kid says quietly, looking up at him with wide eyes, and Jack notices for the first time that they’re crying.  
  
“Yeah, Jack,” he replies, enjoying the sound of someone else calling him the name. Jack sticks out a hand to the kid. They shake hands and Jack stands up, pulling the kid with him. “So what’s your name?”  
  
The kid shrugs. “I don’t really like mine, either.”  
  
Jack grins at them and throws an arm around their shoulders. “That’s fine! I can help you come up with a new one, if you want. I like names. I’ll find you a really cool one, don’t worry.”  
  
The kid nods, grateful.  
  
“Okay.”


	6. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please consider with me: Paul, back from the void, granted form but no memories, newborn as far as the universe is concerned, a sweet starchild with an infinite sense of loss he can’t explain...”
> 
> The universe works in mysterious ways.
> 
> Accompanying playlist: http://8tracks.com/cmdonovann/lift-up-your-eyes-child-you-are-home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD it's been a long time since I last updated, I'm sorry. Writing is hard. Here's some feelings.

**October 17th, 2016, 7:00am**  
  
The alarm Jack set last night on his phone goes off with a shrill series of beeps, jarring him abruptly into the waking world. Normally his alarm would be whatever song he liked most that week, if he even set an alarm, but with all the chaos of the past week and a half, he hadn’t bothered to find a good one. Jack fumbles for his phone on the table beside the motel bed, eyes still closed, and shuts it off.  
  
With the shrieking of the alarm quieted, Jack’s brain slowly focuses on another sound, a soft rustling of fabric. He rubs his eyes and forces them open, the room still mostly dark besides the first few rays of sun coming in  through the small gap in the curtains.  
  
Paul is sitting cross-legged in the other bed, the scratchy motel comforter pulled over his shoulders like a cape, hair still slightly damp from last night’s rain, and leaning over and looking intently at something in his lap. Jack frowns as his eyes focus and realizes his wallet is no longer on the table where it should be, but in Paul’s hands.  
  
“Hey! What the fuck?” Jack scrambles out of bed, throwing the blanket gracelessly to the floor and grabbing his wallet out of Paul’s hands.  
  
“What the hell are you doing?” He demands, glaring down at Paul, whose eyes are wide and alarmed. It takes a moment before Paul seems to register the anger in Jack’s face, and a look of hurt crosses his face.  
  
“…sorry?” The word is less of an apology and more of a question, confusion. Jack sighs, reigning himself in from attack mode, and he rolls his neck and rubs the back of his hand across his eyes. Even a few hours of sleep hadn’t removed the tension he felt all the time now, in his shoulders and neck and in his temples behind his eyes.  
  
“It’s okay. What were you doing?”  
  
Paul reaches out a hand tentatively, tapping on the wallet in Jack’s hand with one thin finger. Jack holds it out and Paul opens it, pointing at the photo on Jack’s driver’s license.  
  
“That’s you.”  
  
Jack raises one eyebrow and his mouth quirks to one side. _Thanks, Captain Obvious._ “Uh, yeah. That is a picture of me.”  
  
Paul nods, his expression intense. “Yes.” He hands the wallet back to Jack. “I want one.”  
  
“What, a picture of me? Dude, that’s weird.” Paul shakes his head. “A picture of _you?_ ”  
  
Paul grins broadly, clearly pleased with Jack for understanding his communication, or lack thereof. “Yes!”  
  
“Mmhmm, sure. Your stuff is all still at Monarch, I’m sure there’s a picture of you in there somewhere.” Jack rolls his eyes and shoves the wallet into his pocket, grabbing his jacket and looking around for his shoes. It occurs to him for a moment that perhaps Paul doesn’t even remember what he looks like, but he ignores the thought, trying not to focus on what his former best friend could and could not remember. “Come on, we’ve got to get back on the road,” Jack says as he locates his shoes and slides them on before grabbing Paul’s jacket and shoes and tossing them to him. Paul misses them by a mile, the jacket landing directly in Paul’s face. Jack has to hold back a laugh, almost forgetting everything himself as Paul recoils and pulls the jacket off his face. He feels, for just a second, normal.  
  
But the feeling is gone, the reality of the situation returns and hits him like a ton of bricks, and he has to pause to take a breath. This isn’t really Paul, his friend is not back and everything is not fine and the world nearly ended and he is very tired, and there’s something very wrong with him. Crackling at the back of his mind like a quiet flame. Reminding him that he’s not quite human anymore. And neither is Paul.  
  
Jack pulls on his jacket, clearing his thoughts as best he can.  
  
“Alright, let’s get going.”

* * *

  
  
**October 17th, 2016, 2:21pm**  
  
Jack scowls and shifts in his seat, hands tugging anxiously at the bottom of his jacket, deeply regretting the decision to let one of the Monarch kids drive for the last leg of the trip. He’s fidgety and uncomfortable and despite the fact that he _knows_ Paul can’t see him from his seat in the back of the van, he still feels like Paul is watching him. Thankfully the drive is almost over, and he breathes a sigh of relief as he sees the familiar “Welcome to Riverport!” sign on the side of the highway, its paint perhaps slightly more faded than he remembers it. He turns and pulls open the window into the back of the van, checking to make sure Paul is still quiet and not causing any trouble.  
  
Paul is all the way at the back of the van, barely sitting on the very edge of the seat, staring out the back window, watching as the road recedes behind them. His face is placid, almost peaceful, eyes half closed, and in the low light of the van, he looks exactly as Jack remembers him when he was younger.  
  
Jack feels something in the pit of his stomach, sadness or anger or disgust or maybe even nostalgia, and suddenly thinks he might throw up. But it passes, and he turns back look out at Riverport rising ahead of them, bright in the afternoon sun.  
  
_You can’t keep doing this,_ he tells himself. _You have to accept that things are never going to be the same. It’s okay. The world didn’t end and you’ve gotta move past this._  
  
Jack feels the car decelerating as they reach the downtown area of Riverport, a shadow passing over them as the taller buildings loom above. He hears a shuffling in the back of the van and turns slightly to see Paul craning his neck as he tries to look further out the back window at the buildings outside. There’s a look of awe on his face, or maybe fear.  
  
Then Jack feels the car slow to a final stop and he returns his gaze forward and there it is: Monarch Solutions.  
  
“Where are we?” A voice pipes up from behind, high-pitched and nervous.  
  
“Home,” Jack says quietly.

* * *

  
  
**October 17th, 2016, 2:30pm**  
  
The familiar one — Jack — opens the door to the back of the vehicle and suddenly they’re afraid. There’s a rushing sound outside, of other cars speeding by, and it’s colder here than it was before. Surrounded by the mirrors of steel and glass stretching high into the sky, reflecting back all the sound and the wind. The biggest yet is before them as they climb cautiously out and follow Jack, craning their neck to look up at the yellow symmetrical shape emblazoned on it.  
  
It’s beautiful, in a way, if terrifying and huge, and strange and somehow familiar at the same time, but not the same kind of familiar as Jack. Colder.

* * *

  
  
**October 17th, 2016, 2:31pm**  
  
Jack can feel Paul directly on his heels as they enter the building, the Monarch team follows ever-so-slightly behind. Will is nowhere to be seen; he probably bolted straight inside the moment the cars stopped. Jack can’t help but hear the small gasp from Paul as they enter the lobby of the building, and he turns just a tad to see Paul looking up in awe at the high ceilings, lit brightly with a cool bluish white glow. The building still isn’t completely repaired from the events of the previous weeks, but the place is still impressive, Jack thinks. He has to slow his pace as Paul nearly stops walking, trying to take everything in with wide eyes.  
  
The building isn’t too busy at this time of day on a Monday, but they pass a few people on the way to the main elevators who shoot sideways glances at Paul, supposedly dead, blamed for all that’s gone wrong here. The looks of fear and distrust make Jack’s skin crawl, but Paul doesn’t even seem to notice, too entranced by his new surroundings.  
  
“Plan?” Jack asks shortly when they reach the elevator, turning to Martinez.  
  
“Take him to Hatch.” She nods, one quick, curt motion. “I trust you don’t need the escort anymore?”  
  
Jack glances back at Paul, still distracted. “I should be fine.”  
  
He has to prompt Paul into the elevator when it arrives, gesturing at the open doorway and following Paul in. He’s afraid to do anything more, to push him around, to touch him at all, though he’s not certain why. Maybe it’s the bright Monarch lights, but the world doesn’t quite feel real, and some part of him is worried that if he reaches out and touches it, it will all disappear. And afraid though he is of Paul, he’s more afraid of the uncertainty that came with not knowing what had become of him.  
  
The elevator is halfway up to the top of the building when Jack’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, ignoring the puzzled look from Paul. It’s a text from Will.  
  
_meet us in dr amarals office, she wants to check paul out_  
  
Jack replies quickly. _Incredible grammar, as always, Will._  
  
Will replies with a middle finger emoji and Jack chuckles. He hadn’t realized Will even had an emoji keyboard on his phone, let alone bothered to use it. If anything positive has come of all this, he thinks, it’s that he and Will are finally learning to communicate with each other again.  
  
“What’s that?” He’s shaken from the thought as Paul reaches out one hand to poke at Jack’s phone with one finger, and Jack jerks back instinctually in response.  
  
“It’s my phone,” Jack says and he tugs it away, voice sharper than he meant it to be, and Paul shrinks back into the corner of the elevator. “Sorry,” he says, without thinking, his stomach churning with some kind of pity or sadness or guilt. He’s given up on being angry. He’s just tired. Tense.  
  
“Come on,” he says as the elevator glides to a stop and the door opens. Paul follows a few steps further behind him this time, no longer looking around at the building. His eyes are fixed firmly on Jack.  
  
They are met almost immediately by Will, who sticks his head out the door of the lab halfway down the hall from the elevator door.  
  
“How did you get up here so fast?” Jack asks, and Will just shrugs and makes a vague hand gesture which Jack is too out-of-practice to interpret.  
  
Before he can say anything else, Sofia Amaral appears behind Will, and her eyes lock onto Paul immediately, an expression like relief on her features. “Paul,” she says softly, and it takes a moment before he looks up, not recognizing the name.  
  
“Dr. Amaral, he doesn’t… he doesn’t remember anything,” Jack says slowly, wondering if Will has already told her. Her face changes only slightly, brows lowering an almost unnoticeable amount.  
  
“Of course,” she replies, ushering Will back into the lab before waving for Jack and Paul to follow.  
  
The first thing Jack notices, as he always does in Amaral’s lab, is the large machine in the back of the lab. It looks rather like a CAT scan, but larger and shinier. Jack’s been in it a few times in the past week; according to Dr. Amaral, it measures certain interactions within the chronon field around a person’s body. Will has clearly made some modifications to it since he was last in it, and it looks even more intimidating with loose wires coming out the side, hooked up to several smaller boxes and panels piled onto the table next to it.  
  
The next thing Jack notices is that Hatch is mysteriously not present. “Hey, where’s-“  
  
“Martin is busy and won’t be here for a few hours,” Sofia cuts him off, knowing the question before it’s even finished. Jack wonders if his concern is really that apparent. He’d thought he had a better poker face.  
  
“I can take it from here. You should go get some rest,” Sofia offers as she begins organizing some things on a desk, plugging several wires from several different machines into various ports on her computer.  
  
Jack glances from her to Will to Paul then back again. Paul is looking around anxiously, hands fidgeting at the hem of his shirt. It reminds him of one of Will’s nervous tics, and he frowns slightly.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Of course.” Dr. Amaral doesn’t even look up. Jack turns to head back out of the lab, but in the corner of his eye he sees Paul stiffen, shoulders raised in an almost defensive position, and his eyes go wide.  
  
“No,” Paul says, voice breaking even on the one quiet syllable.  
  
All activity in the room seems to stop, and the quiet hum and beeping of machinery and computers seems deafening. Paul hasn’t said anything to either of them yet, Jack realizes. He turns around, crossing his arms. Paul looks fucking terrified.  
  
“I… know you,” he says, though he sounds uncertain. “Not them.” Paul’s eyes dart to Dr. Amaral and Will, though his eyes linger on Will for a moment longer, uncertain. Dr. Amaral takes a step toward him.  
  
“Do you remember either of them?” she asks gently, with all the practiced patience of someone who’s worked with children, or just in customer service. Paul shakes his head.  
  
“I don’t… I don’t remember me. I don’t remember…” He frowns and looks down at his hands, then back up at Jack, before putting his face in his hands and making a noise of frustration. The movement is so familiar, Jack can almost picture him doing the same thing with his face in a chemistry textbook after hours of studying, when they were younger. Sofia puts a hand on his shoulder and, to Jack’s surprise, he doesn’t jump or resist.  
  
“Paul, we need to figure out why this happened to you. Do you want to remember?” Paul nods vigorously, and Jack feels sick.  
  
_Do you want him to remember? Do you?_  
  
He doesn’t want to answer that.  
  
“We need to run a few tests, to understand what’s happened to you,” Sofia continues patiently. “Can you just be patient and hold still for a few minutes?”

* * *

  
  
**October 17th, 2016, 3:06pm**  
  
Paul sits quietly through a whole slew of tests, Dr. Amaral seemingly unfazed by how strange he’s acting, speaking quietly with Will the whole time. Jack remains in the corner of the lab, clicking around mindlessly at a puzzle game on his phone and occasionally giving Paul a look of reassurance as Paul glances over at him. He hates everything about the situation, but Paul didn’t seem like he’d be too cooperative without Jack there. Jack rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck, trying to get rid of the tension there. No such luck.  
  
Paul flinches and makes a noise like a whimper when Dr. Amaral sticks him with a needle, pulling Jack out of his thoughts. Paul’s eyes squeeze shut, his face twisted in discomfort as Amaral takes three blood samples and sticks the tubes into some contraption that Jack couldn’t even begin to guess at its purpose. Will is bent over a computer screen at the corner, going over some scan results.  
  
“Well, that should be everything, for now,” Sofia says, breaking the silence. “Jack?” Jack sticks his phone in his pocket and stands up stiffly.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Amaral looks from Paul to Jack and back again, her face unreadable. “We’ve got a lot to go over here before we can come to any solid conclusions, and it doesn’t appear as though Martin will be back any time soon,” she says as she pulls up a sleeve to glance at her watch. “Do you have anything else you need to be doing today?” The question is directed at Jack, but her eyes are still on Paul, who doesn’t seem to notice.  
  
“I guess not,” Jack says with a shrug. “It’s not like I exactly have a defined purpose here, you know.”  
  
Amaral gives him a look which could almost be read as pity, which Jack does his best to ignore. “Should I—“ she considers her words, “should I call someone to come keep an eye on Paul?”  
  
“I really doubt he’s bullshitting us about this, Sofia,” Will says from the corner, not looking up from his work. “He’s not going to kill anyone. Jack has it handled.”  
  
“Will!” Jack exclaims. “You want me to fucking— what, babysit him?”  
  
“You said yourself, you don’t have anything else you need to do,” Will says, voice distant as he manipulates a few dials on one of the weird hodgepodge machines he has set up in the corner. “I’m certainly not gonna do it.”  
  
Jack looks to Amaral for some kind of help, but she just shrugs slightly. Paul’s eyes are locked onto Jack like a targeting missile.  
  
“Okay, fine. Sure.” He heads for the door as Dr. Amaral takes a heartrate monitor off Paul’s finger and nods in Jack’s direction. Paul gets up, shaky, and follows. The door to the lab slides shut behind them automatically with a soft hiss, and the hallway is quiet.  
  
They’re about halfway back to the elevator when Paul’s voice breaks the air like a fracture. Jack swallows hard.  
  
“You don’t like me,” Paul says, less of a question and more a statement of fact, his tone flat. Jack takes a breath.  
  
“No, I don’t. For fuck’s sake, Paul, why are you—“ He spins to face Paul, who shrinks away, and Jack feels a horrible guilt rising in his throat.  
  
“What did… what did I do?” There are tears starting in Paul’s eyes.  
  
_Fuck._ “You don’t remember. God,” Jack runs his hand across his face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t remember. I’m sorry, Paul, but you did some really fucked-up shit and you don’t remember it now. I don’t even know if you remember the person you were, or what made you that way, or what made you think it was okay to do what you did! Goddamnit! Why couldn’t you just have stayed dead?“ He mutters the last few words to himself, but it’s too late; tears have started falling down Paul’s face, and Jack doesn’t think he can remember ever feeling this bad in his life.  
  
“Fuck, I'm sorry. I need... time," Jack almost laughs, but his body refuses the foreignness of the idea. "Let’s just go, come on.” Jack turns back to the elevator.  
  
“No, that’s—“ Paul stays behind, backing slowly towards the lab door. “I didn’t want— I’m sorry, I’ll stay.” He hurries back into the lab, head down, and Jack doesn’t bother following.


	7. Tuning Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please consider with me: Paul, back from the void, granted form but no memories, newborn as far as the universe is concerned, a sweet starchild with an infinite sense of loss he can’t explain...”
> 
> The universe works in mysterious ways.
> 
> Accompanying playlist: http://8tracks.com/cmdonovann/lift-up-your-eyes-child-you-are-home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL here's this.... mess. Jack is having a Bad Time™ and I feel no remorse for the suffering I have inflicted upon him. Enjoy.

**October 17th, 2016, 3:35pm**  
  
The elevator ride to the top floor of Monarch is quiet, no one trailing along behind Jack this time, and the feels a knot in his stomach of guilt, anger, a mess of things he can’t even begin to untangle. Some part of him almost misses Paul, the rest of him is screaming that he wishes Paul could have just died and let that be that. But no, Paul has always been a fucking drama queen and he just _had_ to come back to haunt Jack. Of course.  
  
He knows he hasn’t fully adjusted to the reality of the situation yet. A significant chunk of his brain is still on Hong Kong time and hasn’t even noticed that it’s not October 1st anymore. He can’t even begin to process everything else. He’d been running on adrenaline for most of the 8th and 9th and now that that’s gone and things are reasonably calm, he can’t seem to get his head around anything. Will’s still alive, and for a while that was all he cared about. But Paul… well, Paul was dead, until he wasn’t, and Beth…  
  
_Damnit._  
  
Jack leans his head hand against the control panel of the elevator, hitting one of the buttons, and scowls. Fuck this. Fuck Paul. Fuck him for actually caring. Fuck the world for still being here. Fuck Will for building that damn machine. Fuck fate, or God, or whoever or whatever force led his life to where it is right now.  
  
Jack squeezes his eyes shut as the elevator slows to a stop and chimes, alerting him that it’s reached the top floor. The door slides open and he storms down the hall to the apartment, wrenching the door open aggressively and slamming it behind him.  
  
Inside, he stops. There’s late-afternoon light pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the lights of downtown Riverport are just starting to come on as the sky turns a brilliant orange-gold. If not for Jack’s current state of mind, he might have called it beautiful. He frowns and looks around before heading up the stairs.  
  
He hasn’t really had time to get used to the apartment yet, and with most of Paul’s old stuff packed into the boxes sitting downstairs, the place is pretty empty. Lonely, he thinks. He never understood why this sort of modern architecture was appealing to people, let alone why it would appeal to Paul. He supposes seventeen years of reliving history probably fucks with you in unforeseeable ways, including but not limited to shitty taste in interior decorating. There had been a few things of Paul’s he had elected to keep when they had packed everything: some notes, mostly, a few books, a painting, a weird abstract statue that reminds him of an old 17th century ship. Things that don’t feel like they belong here, anyway. Things that would have belonged in Paul's house when they were kids. Familiar, comfortable.  
  
Jack runs his finger across the hand rail of the upper balcony, feeling the cold metal, trying to ground himself in reality. His head hurts.  
  
He paces towards the office, rubbing his eyes again as if the movement might do something to help the headache he’s developing. It doesn’t, and he lets out a long breath before sitting down at the desk, feeling uncomfortable in a way that can only be described as an intrusion. He shouldn’t be here, now that Paul’s alive again.  
  
_Was he ever dead? Does it matter?_  
  
He leans back and looks over the room, slowly, then over the desk. There’s a few drawers that he hasn’t bothered to clean out yet, mostly filled with files and half-empty notebooks that he hasn’t found the energy to sift through. He pulls out one of the piles now, leafs through a few loose sheets. They’re mostly notes on the fracture, things Paul saw at the End, but a lot of the handwriting is too messy to decipher.  
  
Weird. Paul used to have much better writing when they were in school.  
  
Jack flips through one of the notebooks. This one is much messier, with smudges and dust covering many of the pages. Some of the pages are streaked with what seems like water, and after a moment Jack realizes with a start that they’re probably tears. He flips to a page that’s slightly more legible than the rest.  
  
_I don’t fully understand why I can continue to live in this hell when all life around me seems frozen. I’m tired of trying to understand._  
_…_  
_Today (though there isn’t any way to define when one day ends and the next begins) I fell while I was out looking for supplies. Landed on a leaf suspended in the air and sliced my leg open. Strange how something like that becomes deadly in a world like this. Have to be more careful…_  
  
Paul’s writing becomes messier the further down the page it gets, and Jack’s head hurts too much to try to decipher it. He pulls another notebook from the pile, similar to the last one. There’s less writing in this one, and more sketches. Not particularly good, but it’s pretty clear that these notebooks are all from the period when Paul was trapped at the End Of Time. Suddenly Jack recognizes one of the sketches, and it’s like an electric shock. It’s not Paul’s best work, but it’s unmistakable. Hair pulled back tight, strong jaw, freckles, those eyes…  
  
Beth’s face looks up at him from the page like a ghost, and for a moment Jack can’t breathe. He feels sick to his stomach and his head swims with a dense black and white fog, a bright light cutting into his consciousness, and a muffled echo of some sound he can’t name. He puts his head down on the desk and groans.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
It takes a few moments for the feeling to pass, and when it does, Jack opens his eyes, head still on the desk, staring down at his own lap and the still-open drawer he had been looking through.  
  
Something glassy catches his eye, the lights from downtown Riverport that illuminate the apartment at all hours of the day catching on its reflective surface. Jack pulls out a few more piles of papers to uncover it, and finds a pretty sizable bottle of very expensive vodka.  
  
“Fucking hell… jackpot,” Jack murmurs to himself. He cracks the seal on the bottle and, without flinching, takes a huge swig.  
  


* * *

**October 17th, 2016, 3:50pm**  
  
Dr. Amaral and Dr. Joyce make no protest when Paul returns to the lab and sits down in a corner, head hanging sullenly and face in hands. Dr. Amaral makes an attempt at comfort, but when it become obvious that nothing she says will help Paul, she returns to work and leaves Paul in the corner, quiet.  
  
But Paul had heard those two talking, and they— _no, he; his name is Paul and those two call him “he”_ — he was starting to notice the way they keep looking at him out of the corners of their eyes. Something tells him they’re afraid, maybe more than he is.  
  
He considers what Jack said. That he did something terrible, that he doesn’t remember it. His throat feels tight and there’s a tenseness in his body, a static crackle up his spine. He squeezes his eyes closed and feels a prickle of tears at their corners.  
  
He’s afraid of these people, but they’re more afraid of him.  
  
What kind of monster must he be?  
  


* * *

**October 17th, 2016, 5:05pm**  
  
Jack is about three-fourths of the way through the bottle of vodka and very close to passing out when he’s dragged from his near-unconsciousness by someone knocking on the office door. His feet are on the desk and he nearly falls out of the chair attempting to get them down quickly, unbalanced and graceless as he heads for the door.  
  
“Mr. Joyce? Dr. Amaral sent me to check on you, Paul is still down in her lab, and—“ Jack swings the door open, one arm on the frame to hold himself steady. The Monarch lackey on the other side looks taken aback. She’s the same one who’s been on his case most of the week; Jack squints at her nametag. Mari—? Martinez?  
  
“What,” Jack says, though it’s less of a question and more of a flat _“The fuck, bro,”_ kind of statement. Martinez looks alarmed.  
  
“Are you alright?” She’s looking at him some kind of way, but the combination of vodka and a pounding headache that still hasn’t gone away is making things far too blurry for Jack to tell.  
  
“Fucking awesome,” Jack lies and gives her his best _“I’m fine”_ smile, adding a finger gun for effect. He squints again, frowning, her face swimming in his vision. Her eyes are fixed on him with an expression of concern, and they’re greenish gold, and suddenly Jack feels like he’s going to throw up because all he can see in front of him is Beth.  
  
He turns, loses his grip on the door frame, and hits his head on the door itself.  
  
“Fuck,” he mutters, though it doesn’t really hurt so much as it disorients him even further. His vision is fuzzy and dark around the edges, his ears are ringing, and he doesn’t even process the fact that he’s falling until he hits the floor and feels a hand on his shoulder as his stomach empties its contents in a shuddering mess on the floor.  
  
After a few moments he can distantly hear Martinez talking to someone, probably over a radio, but he can’t seem to focus on the words right as his brain tries to keep him somewhat stable, and the sound fades in and out like a synth in a bad dance song.  
  
“…’s fine, I don’t know where he… yeah, he’s drunk, I… no, sir, Serene is… should I…? Alright.” The voice makes Jack’s head hurt more, a light shining right into his skull, and he groans.  
  
“Beth…”  
  
“Alright genius, time to get you somewhere a little safer,” the voice breaks through the mess in Jack’s head. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and the shock of another human touching him is enough to make his stomach heave again. “Whoa boy.” The hand is retracted, and oddly, this doesn’t make him feel any better.  
  
“We really oughta check your BAC. What on earth have you been drinking?” She sounds concerned, and Jack tries to focus enough to form words. No such luck. He lifts a shaky hand to point at the desk, where he thinks he left the bottle. Footsteps, then an exasperated sigh.  
  
“Great. What’s the percentage alcohol in this stuff?” A pause. “Whoa. Alright. Well, Serene sure has good taste, huh?”  
  
_Has._  
  
Jack feels like his body is going to collapse in on itself as he heaves again, nothing left in his stomach to go anywhere. His ribs hurt.  
  
_Has._  
  
Paul Serene is alive. He had almost forgotten that, for a while. Maybe that was the point.  
  
He hears footsteps, and the hand rests on his back again, between his shoulder blades. This time his body doesn’t react violently. Too tired.  
  
“You gonna be alright there, Joyce?”  
  
He nods, attempts to answer, but his throat burns with stomach acid. He nods again, harder, and opens his eyes painfully. Just looking at the floor beneath him makes him dizzy, and his hands don’t look like his own. He can’t seem to locate where the rest of his body is, and it takes a moment for him to move.  
  
“Yeah,” he forces the word out. “Great.”  
  


* * *

**October 17th, 2016, 5:38pm**  
  
After a bit of a struggle Martinez gets Joyce on his feet and gets him a glass of water before calling the cleaning crew to come sanitize the fuck out of the office upstairs. Serene had kept the apartment spotlessly clean and organized when he had been there, and she hopes that this incident is not indicative of a developing pattern. She’s read Joyce’s file, of course, knows what he’s like, but this is not what she signed up for when she got assigned to his case. She had expected to be more afraid of him, not feel bad for how much of a fucking mess he is.  
  
Joyce has, for some reason unknown to her, staunchly refused to go anywhere near the bed in the apartment, and is currently sitting on the sofa downstairs with his head in his hands and a glass of water on the floor by his feet. He hasn’t said a word since he got there.  
  
Martinez taps her foot anxiously and checks her watch, hoping the cleaning folks are on their way. The office smells like a frat party gone wrong and she wants nothing more than to leave Joyce in the hands of the janitorial staff and get back to her station to report.  
  
“Hey Joyce, you doing alright?” she calls down to him. He offers a weak thumbs up, not moving much, and says nothing. She frowns, mentally re-calculates how much alcohol he’s had, wonders if he would be alright on his own until the others arrive. “I’m coming down there, okay?”  
  
Jack doesn’t respond, and she paces down the stairs and over to the sofa as quietly as possible. His head is still in his hands, eyes closed, thumbs rubbing circles into his temples.  
  
“Hey,” she says, hand hovering at his shoulder. “Can you stand up? I should be able to tell how sober you are by your balance.” He shakes his head, and it looks like he’s biting his lip.  
  
“No thanks.” The response would almost sound sarcastic if his voice didn’t crack dryly on the words. She can see him biting his lip.  
  
“Alright, well I’m gonna have to stick around until someone else gets here to make sure you don’t fucking die,” she says, and he laughs just a little. His shoulders are shaking and presses his hands over his eyes.  
  
“Beth?” His voice sounds broken.  
  
Martinez sucks in a deep breath. He’s said that name more than once now. This is _definitely_ not what she signed up for.  
  
“No, my name’s Angela Martinez. Been assigned to you until you’re more well-adjusted to Monarch.”  
  
Jack looks up at her suddenly, an expression like he’s searching for something. There are tears in his eyes.  
  
“Get the fuck out of here,” he says suddenly, his face twisting in pain as his body crumples inward and the air around him fractures like glass, like a heat mirage. She can feel it like the electricity before a lightning strike as Jack Joyce shakes and his body lights up like there's fire in his veins.  
  
She turns and bolts without a second thought. Once safely outside the apartment, she sends a message to Dr. Amaral, then to Martin Hatch, then to her supervisor, requesting to be assigned to something, _anything_ else.  
  


* * *

**October 18th, 2016, 7:30am**  
  
The light through the floor-to-ceiling windows burns Jack’s eyes when he wakes, still curled in a ball on the couch. His mouth is dry, his head is pounding, he’s nauseous, and his whole body feels like it’s been set on fire then buried under a collapsed building.  
  
Jack squints in the early-morning light, the dull rays of pinkish orange filtering through the clouds feeling like a knife in his skull, and groans as the memory of last night comes back and regret hits him like a ton of fucking bricks.  
  
He should have known that drinking away his problems doesn’t solve a fucking thing. He should have learned that years ago. And yet…  
  
His body feels like it’s barely holding itself together. Like he’s a million pieces held together with scotch tape, shaking. His chest feels tight, sore, and for a moment the terrified thought crosses his mind that he’s gone back in time ten years, but he takes a deep breath and feels the tightness dissipate into just a twinge in his spine and sternum. He’s fine. Or at least as fine as he can be right now.  
  
Something happened last night, he had seen something, before he tuned the fuck out. And again when he was on the floor. He’d heard voices, screams, and the washed-out, overexposed brightness of a frozen world. He’d felt it tearing at him like it wanted him there, like that future wanted to happen. Willing him to walk into it, like it was part of him. A sound in that void, a swan song.  
  
And he’d seen Beth.  
  
Fuck. No. He’d mistaken that other Monarch kid for Beth.  
  
Guilt washes over him and he forces himself up, off the sofa. His heel hits something and suddenly there’s liquid soaking his shoes. Fuck. He grabs the now empty glass of water off the floor and sets it on one of the tables, looking around and trying to orient himself.  
  
It still feels like he shouldn’t be here. He elects to ignore that feeling, stretching his arms to one side then the next, cracking the joints in his elbows and shoulders and back and rolling his neck with a loud _pop_. No wonder he feels like he’s falling apart. How the fuck did Paul deal with this for seventeen years? He can barely take a week and he’s already considering epitaphs for his gravestone.  
  
Paul, of course. Jack’s stomach drops, and he’s suddenly glad he the contents of his stomach are mostly gone after last night or he might lose them again. Paul’s still alive, and he’s got to deal with that whether he wants to or not.  
  
He heads to the bathroom, splashes water on his face, changes his shirt, checks his phone. Several texts from Will, a missed call from Amaral. An email from Hatch. He ignores the texts and calls and opens the email, wondering why Hatch is speaking to him directly after their one brief interaction the day after the fracture. He turns the brightness on his phone screen down as far as it can go, but it still burns his eyes. He rubs his head and focuses on the text glaring at him from the screen.  
  
The email is brief and to the point:  
  
_Mr. Joyce,_  
_You’ll be reporting to Dr. Amaral for now, as I have other issues to attend to. While I can no longer be the face of Monarch thanks to Paul, I will continue to do my best to keep things running smoothly._  
_Dr. Amaral expressed some concern about you last night. I recommend you see her as soon as you are able._  
_Best,_  
_Martin Hatch_  
  
Jack runs a hand through his hair and sighs, shoving his phone back into his pocket. After a second thought, he pulls it back out and checks the texts from Will. There’s twelve of them, all increasing degrees of indecipherable gibberish mixed in with words he recognizes. “Chronon,” “particle field,” “retrograde amnesia,” and finally, “Paul.”  
  
Jack replaces the phone in his pocket, glaring at himself in the bathroom mirror. He can barely recognize his own face, squinting in the annoying fluorescent light; there are dark circles so deep under his eyes he can’t help but see his teenage self, and he cringes at the memory of stealing eyeliner from a drugstore with Paul, one night in high school. The memory weighs on his shoulders with a heavy discomfort, and he tries his best to shake it off and ignore the sadness that hangs in the air with it. He gives his reflection one last look over and shrugs at himself before heading out.  
  
The mess in the office has been cleaned up, to his surprise, the papers he had thrown out of the desk now neatly stacked on top of it. The remainder of the vodka is nowhere to be seen, and he nods absentmindedly at the idea. Good.  
  
There’s a guard waiting outside the door that he doesn’t recognize, and he doesn’t look Jack in the eye when he exits the apartment.  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
The kid clears his throat. He’s sweating a lot. “Justin Tran, I’m the new, uh, assignment.”  
  
“What happened to the other one?”  
  
“Uh, Martinez? She asked to be reassigned.” God, he sounds terrified. Jack supposes he has good reason to be. Most of Monarch’s more experienced personnel are probably either in a hospital or six feet under thanks to him. Jack shuts that thought down immediately, not ready to deal with the ramifications of it.  
  
“Right. I’m supposed to go see Amaral.”  
  
“Yeah,” the kid says. “I’m supposed to stay here.”  
  
“Right. Good.” Jack turns awkwardly and heads down the hallway, jaw clamped tight as if it’ll put a stopper in the churning thoughts in his head.


	8. I'll Do Anything For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please consider with me: Paul, back from the void, granted form but no memories, newborn as far as the universe is concerned, a sweet starchild with an infinite sense of loss he can’t explain...”
> 
> The universe works in mysterious ways.
> 
> Accompanying playlist: http://8tracks.com/cmdonovann/lift-up-your-eyes-child-you-are-home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a lyric from "For The Widows In Paradise, For The Fatherless In Ypsilanti" by Sufjan Stevens. It's on the playlist. I've been adding to the playlist, but the 8tracks version hasn't been updated yet, oops.
> 
> Anyway, here's a lot of... talk.

**October 18th, 2016, 7:44am**  
  
“Jack! Hey! Jack!” Jack is caught off guard by his brother’s voice calling down the hall behind him and turns to see Will walking quickly to catch up with him, smiling in a way that seems very forced, even for him.  
  
“Hey, what’s up Will?” Jack slows his pace to allow his brother to fall in step beside him.  
  
“I overheard the Monarch security team that’s assigned to you talking. Are you alright? What the hell happened last night?”  
  
Jack feels the weight of anxiety in his stomach and a heavy tiredness deep in his bones. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the intake of air to calm that fear he always gets when Will tries to talk to him seriously.  
  
“It’s a long story,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I got drunk.” He looks at Will, who seems to be expecting more, and continues, “Well, I guess it’s not that long of a story, actually. I got drunk, did some stupid shit, and that’s about it,” he finishes sheepishly.  
  
“Casual alcoholism isn’t going to solve your problems, Jack. Believe me, I’ve tried,” Will sounds one hundred and ten percent serious and Jack avoids looking at him as they continue down the hall. Just before they reach the hall that turns off towards the block containing Dr. Amaral’s lab, Will grabs his elbow and turns the opposite way, towards the elevators and a large glass window that overlooks one of the larger rooms on the floor below. The cafeteria for Monarch employees seems to have been temporarily moved there during the clean-up efforts, and Will jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the window. “Come on, let’s get coffee or something.”  
  
“I’m supposed to see Dr. Amaral, I got an email from Hatch this morning,” Jack protests, backpedaling. He doesn’t want this conversation to last any longer than it needs to. But Will has a firm grip on the fabric of his hoodie at the elbow, and Jack is too tired to pull himself away.  
  
“It’s fine, you’ve got time. Sofia is keeping an eye on Paul right now. Anyway, he’s been asleep for a while.” Will continues toward the stairs, bypassing the elevator entirely.  
  
“Oh, so it’s ‘Sofia’ now? Not Dr. Amaral?”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Jack,” Will says, and Jack can’t tell if there’s humor in the tone. He shuts up.  
  
The makeshift cafeteria isn’t particularly busy this early in the morning, but the few people sitting at the little plastic tables set up around the room look ups when the Joyce brothers exit the bottom of the staircase. Jack can feel at least twenty sets of eyes on him, and a deep discomfort stirs somewhere in his abdomen, a tight feeling that makes it hard to breathe. He wishes for a moment that Will was still holding onto his arm; at least that would be some kind of grounding force. He makes eye contact with one woman on the opposite side of the room, who immediately looks back down at her laptop and takes a nervous sip of coffee. No one else looks at him.  
  
"It feels weird here. Feels like everyone's always got one eye on me, like they're scared or something,” Jack says quietly, leaning in so only Will can hear him.  
  
"They probably are, Jack. You were the bad guy to them, until Hatch roped you into this. Do you have any idea how many of Monarch's people you hurt? Or killed?"   
  
Jack bites his tongue, tastes blood, swallows hard. “Too many,” he whispers.  
  
Will seems to ignore him, heading over to get coffee and leaving Jack standing there, frozen, trying not to look anyone in the eye. Will returns after a moment with two coffees and a package of chocolate pop tarts, which Jack raises an eyebrow at but says nothing. He takes the coffees from Will as his brother struggles with the silver foil package, not quite coordinated enough to get it open while walking at the same time. He shoves it in the pocket of his jacket and heads back up the stairs with Jack following close behind, silent.  
  
Will takes what seems like another wrong turn away from Dr. Amaral’s lab on the next floor, and Jack quietly offers, “The lab is the other way, Will,” but Will just shrugs and keeps walking, passing several corridors before turning down the one that leads to his own temporary office.  
  
“We’ve got time,” Will says as he turns to his office, swipes a key card, and pulls the door open.  
  
The disarray in the office hasn’t improved much since Jack was last in here, before they found out about Paul. The small lab-turned-office is piled with books, notes, and all manner of other odds and ends on almost every surface. The two small lab benches that would normally house equipment are piled high with books, most of which are bigger than your average college textbook and look doubly confusing. There’s a paper model of the countermeasure sitting on top of one of the piles, notes scribbled on it in green ink.  
  
“Shit,” Will says softly as he looks around the room for a place to sit. He settles for moving one of the book piles onto another pile, creating a precarious looking stack almost as tall as he is but clearing enough space on the bench to put his coffee and pop tarts. He pulls up a stool and gestures for Jack to join him. The gesture says something that seems familiar to Jack— an invitation of confidence? They hadn’t talked much when Jack was younger, at least not after what happened to their parents. But here Will was, offering his first attempt at meaningful conversation in years, and Jack feels like he might throw up again. He ignores that feeling as best he can.  
  
"I don't know how the fuck you're even functional these days, man." Jack says, shrugging as he locates another chair and sits down across from Will at the lab bench. He hands him a coffee. "This is... this is too much.”  
  
Will pulls the pop tarts back out of his pocket and gestures around the room with the package still in his hand. “Does this look functional to you, Jack?”  
  
“Well, I mean, for you? Yeah, this isn’t too bad. Remember how much of a mess the barn was when you kept your stuff out there, before you, uh,” Jack clears his throat, “before you sold the house?”  
  
Will nods. “That’s fair.” He finally succeeds in opening the package in his hands and pulls out a pop tart, nibbling absentmindedly on one corner in between careful sips of coffee. His eyes are unfocused, though he doesn’t look _quite_ as exhausted as he has for most of the past week. “Jack, you know why I did the things I did,” Will says. His tone is flat, but the sentence feels more like a question, and Jack nods.  
  
“Yeah, you had to build the countermeasure. I know. I just wish you had told me, Will. I could have… I don’t know. But you didn’t have to hide everything.”  
  
“You were thirteen when it all started, Jack. I— you know I couldn’t have explained that to you. You wouldn’t have wanted to listen, anyway.”  
  
Jack feels the knot of emotion in his stomach tighten. Thirteen wasn’t a good year. “Yeah,” he says distantly, nodding as he takes a sip of his own coffee. It’s scalding hot, but he can’t bring himself to care. He sets the cardboard cup down and puts his head in his hands.  
  
“What the hell are we doing here, Will?” Jack’s voice is muffled by his own attempt to stifle the tears he feels coming. “How do we just… how do we keep going after all this? After the world almost ended? After—“ his voice breaks. “After everything I did?”  
  
The room is silent for a moment, the only sound the high buzz of electrical wiring from the computers on the desk nearby. Will takes a deep breath, a sip of coffee.  
  
“You did what you thought was right, Jack. No one can fault you for that.”  
  
Jack rubs at his eyes before lowering his hands to look at Will. “Can’t they?” Will doesn’t answer. “I just… I don’t know how to go back to normal after everything. This?” Jack gestures at the space between himself and his brother— “this isn’t normal, Will. Since when do we actually admit we give a shit about each other?” Will looks vaguely hurt, but Jack’s heart is racing and he can’t stop talking now. He’s almost shouting. “Nothing about this situation is anything but fucked up, and I don’t know how to act like it’s not!”  
  
Will lets out a long breath and closes his eyes.  
  
"Jack, I had been living in fear of this for years. Now that it's over, I'm just…" he seems to be struggling to find the right word. "I'm tired, Jack. I don't want to fight anyone. I never did. I just wanted to make something great. And look where that got me." Will sighs. "Enough. Enough fighting. Enough saving the world. I'm done. I just want to work in peace. And if your bullshit gets in my way, I'll kick your ass."  
  
Jack is slightly taken aback by Will's hostility. He probably hasn't slept much, and Jack can't blame him. "You couldn't kick my ass if your life depended on it, Will," he tries to joke, though he can't quite tell if the humor gets across to Will.  
  
"Yeah? Try me. I could knock out your powers with the flip of any number of switches in this room," Will says as he gestures around the lab. "Now why don't you go sort your shit out with Paul?"  
  
"What? Paul?! This entire mess is his fault! I don’t— he tried to kill you, Will! He tried to kill me! And for what?! Look what good it did!" Jack throws up his hands. This is not where he wanted this conversation to go.  
  
"And he doesn't remember any of it, nor does it seem likely he ever will. But he still seems to care an awful lot about you."  
  
"Will, you know I can't... I can't forgive what he did."  
  
"Why, because you care so much about _me?_ Don't be an ass, Jack, we haven't actually liked each other since before—“ Will bites his lip, his hands fidgeting in that way that means he's trying not to have some type of outburst.  
  
"Will, we're all we've got. We may not always see eye to eye, but… this is our family. That matters." Jack looks hard Will, and Will's gaze darts down to his coffee and back up to Jack in rapid succession.  
  
"Jack, I was never— I know I didn't look after you like I should have. I know I did things wrong. I also know that Paul was at our house every goddamn day getting in my fucking way, and he cared about you more than anyone else. I— you— Jack, he loved you."  
  
Jack takes a deep breath and watches the air leave ripples in his coffee cup as he exhales. "Yeah," he says quietly. "That... that just makes it worse.”  
  
It’s quiet for a moment as Will stares at him seriously. “Jack. You have to forgive yourself. And you have to at least try to forgive Paul. I know you’re not interested in seeing things from their point of view, but Sofia… Just talk to her. She knows more about what went down here at Monarch than almost anyone else. She had good intentions. They all did.” Will chuckles tiredly and casts a glance at the model of the countermeasure sitting on one of his book piles. “They just didn’t have all the pieces they needed.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jack murmurs and nods, staring down into his coffee. “Good intentions.”

* * *

  
  
**October 18th, 2016, 8:10am**  
  
Jack and Will finish their coffee in silence, Will flipping through a notebook as he slowly makes his way through a pop tart. The makeshift lab may not be well-organized, but it’s quiet besides the mechanical hum of computers that permeates most of the labs in the Monarch research division, and Jack is glad for it. He almost forgets where he was supposed to be, until he gets a text from Dr. Amaral and finds himself disappointed to have to go.  
  
He leaves Will alone with his notes and head back down the hall, trying not to get lost in the twist and turn of white corridors that all look the same, all harsh fluorescent lighting and geometric angles.  
  
When he reaches Amaral’s lab, Jack reaches into his pocket to find it empty, and instead taps on the glass door to get Dr. Amaral’s attention. She opens it for him and smiles sympathetically up at him.  
  
“Did you lose your key card?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jack says, surveying her lab and breathing a sigh of relief that Paul is nowhere to be seen. “I’ve only had it for a few days, you’ll have to be patient with me.”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry, William has already lost three. I see it runs in the family,” Dr. Amaral chuckles. “I thought you’d be interested to know what we found from those tests yesterday.”  
  
Jack nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. Where’s, uh. Where’s Paul?”  
  
“Asleep in my office. There is a security detail on him, no need to worry.” She gives Jack a very serious and somewhat accusing look. “Should I bother asking what exactly you did to him yesterday that made him so terrified of you?”  
  
Jack scowls, but he can’t think of a witty response. “No.”  
  
“Alright.” There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence before Amaral turns to her computer and pulls up a few scans and files on the large screen at the back wall. “Well, I don’t know if your brother has told you anything yet,” she begins, “but to put it in the simplest terms possible, Paul seems to be the exact opposite of what he was before. Or the opposite of you. I didn’t think this was possible, but his body seems to be actively consuming chronon particles rather than producing them, as a chronon active subject like you does.”  
  
Jack stares blankly at the graphs and numbers on the screen. It doesn’t make an ounce of sense to him, and he finds his eyes unfocusing until the screen is a fuzzy glow of yellow and white and grey.  
  
“Sorry, what?” Jack shakes his head to clear it and looks back down at Dr. Amaral. “So he’s not chronon active anymore? He’s not a- a shifter?”  
  
Dr. Amaral nods, though she looks baffled herself. “I’ll be honest with you, I don’t understand what’s happened to him any more than you do. When we first went through these results, I thought that there must have been an error in recording them. But we rechecked everything, and…” She makes an expression of frustration, mouth quirked to one side, and rubs at her forehead with one hand. “It doesn’t seem possible. But then, ten years ago I would have though none of this was possible.” She gestures broadly.  
  
“So… what does this _mean_ , then? He’s not dangerous anymore, is he?”  
  
“That depends on your definition of dangerous. He certainly can’t do what you can do anymore, but I don’t know what effect his current state will have on the environment and the chronon field around him.” Dr. Amaral looks at Jack for some kind of input, and Jack just shrugs.  
  
“Is this why he can’t remember anything?”  
  
Amaral nods as if she was expecting the question. “It’s possible. There’s no sign, at least physically, that he has any kind of brain damage. So unless there’s something else we overlooked, it’s probable that the two issues are connected, yes.”  
  
“Right.” Jack nods, turning the current state of things over in his mind. He thinks for a moment that perhaps he should be feeling _something_ , but he’s too numb, just trying to take in this adjustment. He swallows hard.  
  
“Is there any way he could remember? Is there anything that could, you know, change this?”  
  
Amaral makes a vague gesture. “I’m afraid I don’t know. But I highly doubt it.” Jack lets out a sigh of relief, and Dr. Amaral looks at him accusatorially. “You don’t want him to?”  
  
“You didn’t know Paul before all this. What happened to him changed him for the worse. He was never a killer.” Jack’s tone is sharp but he can’t bring himself to put any real emotion behind it; Amaral backs down anyway.  
  
“Maybe,” she says quietly. “Regardless, there isn’t anything that I can do about it. So for now the question is of what we’re to do with him.”  
  
Jack sighs. “I guess you still want me in on that decision, huh?”  
  
“Well, yes, of course. He seems to recognize you, thought I’ve no idea how, as it seems any kind of functional memory of his past is gone. But he seems to trust you, more so than William or myself. Despite whatever happened yesterday.” She adds the last bit almost as an afterthought, and crosses her arms and looks up at Jack. She seems to be putting on her best bargaining face.  
  
“Hm,” Jack offers. He knows he’s being distant, but he can’t stop focusing on what Will had said to him earlier, the words playing back in his head.   
  
_“…Jack, he loved you.”_  
  
 _He loved you._  
  
The world seems to slow down and Jack feels jittery, though not from the coffee he’d had earlier. His hands shake and his vision goes red and fractal at the edges, a thousand things filling his head at once.  
  
 _He loved you._  
  
 _What the fuck are you going to do?_  
  
Jack bites his lip, sets his mind, and focuses back in on the real world. Dr. Amaral seems to be expecting something from him, some kind of answer, and he nods.  
  
“Yeah, sure. I’ll do what I can.” Jack rubs at his eyes to clear his vision. “But no promises, okay? I don’t… I don’t know how well I can deal with this.”  
  
It’s an admission he doesn’t want to make, but he’s made his choice. No more fighting. No more running.


	9. So Here We Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please consider with me: Paul, back from the void, granted form but no memories, newborn as far as the universe is concerned, a sweet starchild with an infinite sense of loss he can’t explain...”
> 
> The universe works in mysterious ways.
> 
> Accompanying playlist: http://8tracks.com/cmdonovann/lift-up-your-eyes-child-you-are-home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took me way too long to write. Next order of business: update the damn playlist. It'll probably get moved to Playmoss soon, since that allows more freedom in what tracks I can add.
> 
> Chapter title is, you know, words, but it's also lyrics from "Black Flies" by Ben Howard, which I've been listening to while writing this. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NPA__ra9uY

**October 18th, 2016, 10:00am**  
  
After a lot of arguing with Dr. Amaral and a bit of awkward silence when William swings by with even more coffee and tries to talk to Amaral about some theoretical nonsense, Jack decides to reply to Hatch’s email with some inquiries about what, exactly, is the safest thing to do with Paul. It’s a few hours before he receives any kind of response.  
  
 _Hatch,_  
 _I understand you’re busy, but things are kind of a mess here and no one seems to know what the best course of action is. What are we supposed to do with Paul? He’s basically a two-year-old now as far as memory goes, and I’m sure it would be kind of catastrophic if he’s seen by anyone outside of Monarch since the whole world thinks he’s dead and was the cause of all the destruction here._  
  
 _Please advise._  
  
 _Thanks,_  
 _Jack_  
  
———  
  
 _Mr. Joyce,_  
 _Yes, it would be, as you phrased it, “kind of catastrophic” if anyone outside of Monarch realized Mr. Serene is alive. I have a significant amount of damage control left to do, especially since several news sources have picked up on what happened in Essex County when Mr. Serene was found._  
  
 _Unfortunately there may not be a clean-cut way to avoid press attention in this situation. Your duty, for the time being, is to keep Mr. Serene safe and out of the public eye. Your guard detail has already been informed of the situation._  
  
 _I would also request that you make your best attempt to, as Dr. Amaral put it when I last spoke to her on the matter, “jog his memory.” She believes you may be able to help him in some way. I have no such hopes, but there is no harm in trying._  
  
 _Good luck,_  
 _Martin Hatch_  
  
“Well, that’s cryptic and weird,” Jack mutters to himself as he closes his email app and taps idly at his phone screen, thinking. He’s leaning against the wall outside Dr. Amaral’s office, having spent the last half hour pacing up and down the hall. “Why does everything have to be so fucking weird?” He shoves his phone in his pocket and runs a hand through his hair before heading back into Amaral’s office.  
  
“…anyway, it’s not impossible for that type of technology to be developed, exactly, but all I’m saying is that it’s not likely to exist within my lifetime, and I’m deeply bitter about that—" William swings his head around and cuts himself off midsentence when the door swings open. Amaral looks incredibly relieved to have Will’s attention off her and on something else, and she gives Jack a wide-eyed look that he responds to with a shrug.  
  
“So, Hatch emailed back,” Jack says, leaning against a table with one hand and putting the other in his pocket, unsure what else to do with it. “He’s doing, ah, damage control. Apparently.”  
  
“Yes, I was aware,” Amaral says sharply, the note of displeasure in her voice obvious every time Martin Hatch is mentioned. Jack nods, though a little taken aback.  
  
“It seems like our goal at this point is just to keep more bad shit from happening. Keep Paul out of trouble. Keep the press away. Don’t let anyone notice he’s here, and alive.” Jack doesn’t mention the last bit of the email, not sure if he trusts it. Does Dr. Amaral really think he can make Paul remember anything? It didn’t seem that way when they spoke earlier. Why lie about that? He bites his lip. “So that’s our, uh, executive decision, I guess.”  
  
Will nods, takes a sip of coffee. “Cool,” he says, overpronouncing the word in a clipped tone. “So, which one of us is on Paul Serene babysitting duty?” He asks with a hint of his rarely-practiced sarcasm, turning to Dr. Amaral.   
  
“Not you,” Amaral says to Will, one eyebrow quirked up in an expression that reminds Jack of Scully from the _X-Files_. “I need you here, we’ve got things to work on.”  
  
“We?” Jack asks, looking at the two of them. Will avoids eye contact.  
  
“Not that William’s countermeasure wasn’t a brilliant solution, but we still have to be completely certain that the Fracture is fixed. Permanently,” Amaral says, tapping her fingers together as she speaks. “There’s a lot that still needs to be done, and frankly, William and I are the only two people left on the Monarch staff with any qualifications to work on this.”  
  
“Right,” Jack says, frowning slightly and hooking his thumbs in his pockets. “So I guess that leaves me.” He doesn’t even bother waiting for a confirmation, turning and heading back for the door. “He’s in your office, yeah?” he says over his shoulder at Amaral.  
  
“Yes. And Jack?”  
  
He turns back to look at her for a moment.  
  
“Please try to be reasonable with him.”  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Jack bites his lip as he heads into the hall and hears the door click shut behind him.

* * *

  
  
**October 18th, 2016, 10:40am**  
  
Jack heads anxiously down the stairwell to the hall that contains Dr. Amaral’s office, looking around and distantly remembering having been through this area in a stutter. The memory doesn’t quite feel real to him now; everything from that short span of time before they fixed the fracture seems like a blurry, foggy mess in his head, miles or years away despite it being barely a week. Jack runs a hand through his hair and picks up his pace a little, rounding a corner and pushing open a large glass door emblazoned with the orange-gold Monarch logo.  
  
“Oh. Hey,” Jack says as casually as possible as he rounds the corner of the hall to Amaral's office and comes face-to-face with Martinez. _Fuck,_ he thinks, backpedaling internally.  
  
Thankfully, Martinez seems mostly unfazed and just looks up at Jack tiredly, slowing to a stop from the pacing she'd been doing in front of the office door.  
  
“Here for Serene?” she asks, voice not as sharp as Jack remembers it.  
  
“Uh, yeah.”  
  
“Great. Take him off my hands then. You'd think being on guard for Paul fucking Serene would be more interesting, but he's just been asleep for the past few hours.” She gestures in the window-like panel of glass that makes up the wall next to the office door. Paul is curled up in the swivel chair at Dr. Amaral's desk, one leg sticking out haphazardly, head resting on the knee of the other. “Anyway, I'm off,” Martinez says curtly, turning on her heel and heading off in the way Jack came.  
  
“Wait—” Jack says, biting his lip and instantly regretting the choice to say anything. His head hurts for a moment and a halo of orange swims at the edge of his vision. He's reaching some kind of tipping point, soon.  
  
Martinez turns back to look at him, frowning, but says nothing. It's a familiar expression, and Jack's heart aches.  
  
“I'm sorry?” Jack offers weakly, guilt churning in his stomach. _Sorry for what? For throwing up on you? For mistaking you for the dead person I might have been in love with? For shooting up your place of employment? Who fucking cares?_  
  
Martinez looks at him for a moment, posture stiff, face blank. “Sure,” she replies, nodding quickly. She turns and head back down the hall. “Good luck,” her voice echoes down the hall over her shoulder as she turns the corner and disappears from sight.  
  
Jack scowls and rubs at the side of his head, willing the ever-lingering headache to dissipate. _One of these days,_ he tells himself, _you're gonna have to learn to stop saying and doing dumb shit._  
  
He looks in the glass pane next to the office door, swallowing hard to push down the surge of emotion in his throat. At least his mistakes didn't nearly cause the end of the fucking world. He pushes the door open.  
  
It’s noticeably quieter inside the office, the buzz of the heavy fluorescent lighting from the hall dropping away, and the strange hum that permeates most of Monarch is less obvious. Paul doesn’t stir, and Jack closes the door behind him quietly, looking down at him.  
  
Calm.  
  
Jack wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake, scream at him. Punch him in the face, throw him out a window. _How can you be like this, after everything? How can you look so peaceful after all the destruction you caused? After you hurt so many people? After you hurt_ me?  
  
Suddenly Jack’s vision shatters, shards of color swirling before his eyes, and his skull feels like it’s going to explode as the air is kicked out of him. He tries to breathe but the world won’t continue forward, won’t move until he makes it. He stares down at Paul through the shimmer of air, frozen, and there’s anger rising in his chest like the cloud from a bomb. He clenches his fist.  
  
 _Jack, stop. You can’t do that. You won’t._  
  
The air seems to push in around Jack for a moment before it all breaks, and he gasps, forcing air into his lungs. His hand goes instinctively to his chest as he squeezes his eyes shut and his body curls in on itself, feeling one knee hit the floor. Distantly, he hears a sound of alarm from someone.  
  
“Are you okay?” a voice cuts through the pain in Jack’s head, the tone high and tight and nervous, and he feels a hand hovering at his shoulder. Jack forces his stinging eyes open, surprised to find everything just as it was before… whatever that was. His eyes follow the hand on his shoulder up to its owner, and he jerks back when he sees Paul’s face, expression clouded with confusion and concern.  
  
“I’m fine,” Jack says shakily, getting up as quickly as possible. Paul pulls his hand back, standing up with Jack and lacing his fingers together in front of his chest anxiously. His eyes seem foggy, still tired, and Jack bites down on the anger at the back of his throat telling him to connect his fist with Paul's nose. _You can’t,_ he reminds himself. _Even if you really wanted to. You made your choice._   
  
Paul stands before him, very much alive and real and looking _very_ confused. What to say? Where to start?  
  
“Do you know what you’re doing here? What’s going on?” Jack asks, measuring his voice to try to keep a tone of calm in it. Paul frowns.  
  
“No. Not really,” Paul looks away when he speaks, his voice going up at the end like a question, tapping his fingers on the back of his hand. “Do you?”  
  
Jack is taken aback. Does he really know what’s going on? “Yeah,” he lies, trying to meet Paul’s eye. “I’m here to keep an eye on you. A lot of people think you’re dead, and that you did some pretty terrible stuff. So, we gotta keep people from knowing you’re here, basically.” Jack shrugs a little, figuring there’s no point in being dishonest about that. Paul is quiet.  
  
Jack waits for a moment as Paul looks around, anywhere but at Jack. The silence in the room seems strangely loud.  
  
“What did I do?”  
  
The question hits the silence like a ton of bricks and Jack considers, for a split second, jumping out the nearest window.  
  
“I really don’t think you wanna know that, buddy,” Jack says, trying his best to keep the sarcasm to a minimum.  
  
“I do,” Paul says almost immediately, not reading the sarcasm in Jack’s tone.  
  
“Huh,” Jack chuckles nervously. “Nope, sorry. It’s, uh, classified.” Jack’s hand scratches at the back of his head, hoping to god Paul doesn’t see how obvious bullshit that was.   
  
Thankfully, Paul still seems oblivious as hell, and he crosses his arms and sighs. “Okay.” He looks like a pouting child, and Jack rolls his eyes a little.  
  
“Okay,” Jack says, unconsciously echoing the movement and crossing his arms loosely, shifting his weight to one foot. “I guess you don’t wanna be stuck in here for any longer, do you?” He looks around the office, then back at Paul, who seems to be fidgeting in a way that clearly says he feels trapped. Jack feels a prickle at the back of his neck, suddenly noticing how small the room is, how close the air seems. Paul nods.  
  
“Alright.” Jack steps around Paul and swings the door open, careful not to get too close. His mind slips back to two nights prior, in the rain, Paul’s grip tight on his arm and the weird feeling it left in his stomach. Something hovering at the horizon, hanging in the air, heavy and cold and ominous. Jack shivers involuntarily.  
  
“Well, let’s go,” Jack says, snapping himself out of it. He’s not sure where they’re going, but anywhere is better than the quiet in that office. He heads down the hallway, turning just slightly to make sure Paul is following.  
  
Paul looks at him expectantly as he falls into pace just slightly behind Jack to the left, and Jack looks down at his feet instead.  
  
“So where are we going?” Paul asks, voice tense, nervous.  
  
“No idea,” Jack shrugs.  
  
 _We,_ he thinks. _Sure. That works._

* * *

  
  
**October 18th, 2016, 11:11am**  
  
Paul follows along slightly behind Jack as he paces down hallway after hallway, slowly, and Paul wonders briefly if Jack even knows where he’s going. Paul certainly doesn’t. The halls here all look the same, clean and bright and sharp and… lonely. Empty.  
  
There’s something about the place that feels familiar, Paul thinks, the angles and shapes and the cool white and gold. But it’s not quite right. There’s a hollow in his chest that won’t go away, and it weighs down on his shoulders.  
  
“So,” Jack’s voice cuts his thoughts, and Paul looks over at him. “I’m hoping you at least remember your name now?”  
  
Paul pauses for a moment. “Paul… Serene?”  
  
Jack nods. “Mhmm. How about me?”  
  
“Jack,” Paul says quickly, biting his lip. He slows his pace just a little, putting an extra foot of space between himself and Jack, nervous.  
  
“Yeah,” Jack says, voice quiet. Paul can’t see his face.  
  
Jack stops suddenly, reaching the end of the hall, and Paul barely keeps himself from walking straight into Jack’s shoulder, brushing into him as he backpedals. Jack tenses visibly.  
  
“Careful,” Jack warns, voice low. He hits the button for the elevator, but doesn’t turn to look at Paul.  
  
“Sorry,” Paul says quietly, surprised by the reaction. His mind slows for a moment as something clicks into place: Jack is scared of him.  
  
 _Why?_  
  
He doesn’t remember. It’s like hitting a wall. He feels like he should remember, there should be something there, but there isn’t. It’s frustrating, he realizes, and… frightening.  
  
He remembers Jack, or at least thinks he does, flashes of feelings or scenes that played through his head when he learned Jack’s name. But it’s foggy, hard to hold onto.  
  
 _'Goddamnit! Why couldn’t you just have stayed dead?'_  
  
Jack’s voice echoes in his head, that memory more than clear. He looks over at Jack, hands in his pockets, one foot tapping on the floor as he looks at the numbers counting down in bright lights above the elevator door. Is he still angry? Paul can’t tell.  
  
The elevator dings as it reaches the floor they’re on, the door sliding open smoothly, and Jack steps in, turning and waiting for Paul to follow. His face is blank, and Paul follows carefully, stepping into the small space, almost holding his breath. The door slides closed and Paul looks around, anywhere but at Jack.  
  
“So I figure,” Jack says slowly, his voice seeming louder than it is, “you probably shouldn’t leave the building. That kinda sucks, but there’s a chance people will recognize you, and that’s a no-go.”  
  
“Oh,” Paul says softly, thinking about rain. “Okay.”  
  
Jack makes a humming sound, like a confirmation, but says nothing else. Paul feels the elevator slowing, his body suddenly seeming lighter, and the door slides silently open again, Jack stepping out into the hall almost immediately and heading down the short corridor.

* * *

  
  
**October 18th, 2016, 11:18am**  
  
Jack doesn’t even bother looking behind him as he exits the elevator, knowing Paul will have to follow him eventually. He reaches the door to the apartment quickly, hearing Paul’s soft footsteps not far behind.  
  
“So,” Jack says, opening the door. “I kinda live here. And since I have to keep an eye on you, I guess, you know, get comfortable.” Jack takes a few steps into the apartment, looking around. It’s still pretty empty, save for the boxes he has yet to move, and for a moment he panics, worrying that Paul will try to dig through all the stuff that’s clearly labelled as his.  
  
Instead, when Paul follows him into the apartment, his eyes go wide, immediately locking onto the windows. Floor-to-ceiling glass, downtown Riverport visible below, not too busy on a Tuesday afternoon. The sun barely peeks through the clouds, low-hanging and fast-moving in the wind, streams of light bursting through every few moments as the clouds pass by.  
  
Paul hurries over to the windows, hands pressing up against the glass as he looks out and down.  
  
“You live here?” Paul sounds breathless, the same kind of awe in his voice as when Jack found him out in the rain.  
  
“Yeah?” Jack says, not really feeling like it’s true. He hasn’t really lived anywhere, had a home, in a long time. Paul doesn’t seem to notice the half-lie, still pressing his face up to the glass.  
  
“It’s beautiful here.”  
  
Jack stops for a moment, his worry ceasing for a moment as he looks out the windows.  
  
“Yeah, I guess it is.”

* * *

  
  
**June 26th, 1994, evening**  
  
Jack has started meeting the Serene kid every few days, now that school is out and they don’t see each other in class. It’s a half hour walk to the place outside of town where they meet, by the river, but Jack doesn’t mind. He’s just turned 9 earlier this month and he feels like he could kick the world’s ass, even though he can’t even fight his parents into letting him cut his hair. He’s never been out this late though, and there’s a ball of nerves eating at his stomach. At least if he gets in trouble, this time it’ll be worth it.  
  
Serene sees him coming from a good distance away, already waiting at the rickety old bridge that crosses the narrowest point of the river, where the road leaves the suburbs of Riverport and heads out into forest and farmland.  
  
The Serene kid hurries up to Jack and grabs his hand, pulling him behind as he runs into the forest, not saying a word. His other hand holds onto his backpack, bouncing along with him as he runs.  
  
“Where are we going? What’s up?” Jack asks, but his friend doesn’t respond. Finally they both slow, reaching the part of the woods where a storm came through earlier in the year, several trees knocked down to form a perfect hiding place. Once they are safely concealed, his friend finally turns and speaks, voice breathless with excitement.  
  
“I found a name.”  
  
A huge grin splits Jack’s face. They’d been doing research since they’d met, but nothing has stuck. “Tell me!”  
  
His friend takes off his backpack and digs through it for a moment before pulling out an old cassette tape and tapping one finger on the face of one of the four artists on its label.  
  
“Dude, you wanna name yourself after one of the Beatles?”  
  
He nods. “My dad likes them a lot. And I like them too. And I like the name Paul, it sounds… nice.”  
  
Jack giggles. “Alright, alright.”  
  
“What? You don’t think it’s good?”  
  
Jack looks his friend up and down once, considering. “No, it fits. Paul.” The grin is still bright on his face. “Paul,” he says one more time. “You’re right, it does sound nice.”  
  
“How did you choose your name?” Paul’s eyes are still wide, excited. Jack laughs.  
  
“Honestly? I just picked the name that I thought would annoy my parents the most. The most boy-sounding name I could think of.”  
  
Paul’s jaw drops. “That is the stupidest reason I’ve ever heard.”  
  
“Shut up!” Jack shoves Paul lightly, and Paul pushes him back, giggling, until it escalates into an all-out war and they’re both on the ground in the dirt, laughing. Paul gives up after a moment, letting Jack pin him and feigning defeat.  
  
“Okay, enough!” Paul laughs, and Jack rolls off him to lie on the ground next to Paul, looking up through the clear space in the canopy of trees above them. The sun is just starting to go down, and there are rays of gold streaking the clouds. A few flickers of light appear in the corners of the boys’ vision, slowly drifting, and Paul sits up to look around.  
  
“What’s that?” Paul asks, voice high and nervous.  
  
“They’re just fireflies,” Jack says, amused. “You’ve never seen fireflies?”  
  
“Well, yes? But only from inside, through the windows. I’m not supposed to be out this late.”  
  
“Me neither.” Jack shrugs. He gets up, walking slowly toward the nearest bug he sees, taking care to be quiet before quickly reaching out and scooping the little glowing ball off a branch. “Here,” Jack, says, grinning as he holds his cupped hands out to Paul.  
  
“Holy cow.” Paul’s eyes are wide. “It’s not biting you or anything, is it?”  
  
“Nah, it’s safe,” Jack offers, and Paul tentatively holds out a hand. Jack dumps the little bug unceremoniously into Paul’s palm, and it glows brightly, flashing at them.  
  
“Wow,” Paul whispers, eyes wide. “That’s awesome.”  
  
“Yeah, they’re pretty cool,” Jack agrees, proud of himself. But he’s looking more at Paul than at the bug, the light illuminating Paul’s face from beneath as he stares down at the little firefly in his hand. Jack is still turning the name over in his head, like putting together two puzzle pieces. He looks at his friend’s face, thinking about how the name fits him.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” Paul says softly.  
  
“Yeah, it is,” Jack agrees.


End file.
